Champions
by Kar-Vermin
Summary: The first. The original. The best.
1. Chapter 1

Greetings, all.

The following story is based on the _Champions_ campaign that I ran from 1982 to 1998. It is in many ways the companion piece to _Campaign of the Three Worlds_, the story of my D&D campaign which can be found elsewhere. Both campaigns started at roughly the same time, and shared many of the same players, as well as the same general gaming style.

This will not be an easy read, for reasons enumerated below, but I hope you, the gentle reader, will stick with it. Like 3W, _Champions_ had a very rocky start. I was new as a GM, and certainly wasn't thinking ahead as to how this might make a good story thirty years in the future. Both of my campaigns at the end were very different creatures than they started out as. I hope you indulge me- I think the result was worth it.

If you'll forgive a little hubris on my part, I'll post a few Q&A on what I suspect might be people's most common questions, especially if they're already familiar with 3W.

**Champions. Is this the Hero System?**

Yes. An eternal superhero fan, I picked up the first edition when it appeared. _Superman II_ had come out not long before, and its incredible battle sequences had inspired me and my players to commit our own deeds of wholesale destruction (with maybe a dollop of role-playing on the side). As the Hero System progressed through its 2nd, 3rd and finally 4th editions, we stayed current. 5th edition came out after the campaign had ended, which is just as well because in my view it was useless crap.

**I read 3W. You're not starting this story in the friggin' middle again, are you?**

Weeeeelllll… yes and no.

Like my D&D notes, my Champions notes of the earliest days are long gone. I will be starting fairly near the beginning, and you're not going to miss anything, because the first actual chapter of this story is going to be a series of "newspaper articles" which set the scene for the story.

**I thought 3W was, at times, something of a talky angst-fest. Is this going to be the same? **

Like my players have always said, "Work with what you've got!" It's my general style for these types of stories, so I'll neither apologize nor change it. I love characters, both in RPGs and as a writer, and all my stories center more on the _who_ than on the _what. _That being said, a given session of Champions tends to be more combat-heavy than an equivalent amount of time playing D&D, so the combat sequences are spread more evenly throughout this story than they are in 3W, which tends to go in "arcs" of combat, non-combat, combat and so on.

I will say this, though. A lot of the human (or demi-human) drama in 3W was created by me for the story, based on snippets my players had given me and their general overall excellence as role-players. I didn't need to do that for this tale. All the angst and character development this time around was handed to me on a silver platter. I took that dish and ran away with it (I categorically deny ever being in the company of any spoon, however.)

**In the intro to 3W, you said you had divided the story into three separate segments, each featuring a different cast of PCs. Is that the same here?**

No. _Champions_ is divided into different "Books," which each contain a series of "Issues" that center around several common themes and plotlines that are in the foreground for that time, but the campaign, even when it shifts locals, remains one continuous story.

It's very Babylon 5-ish.

**So it's the same PCs all the way through?**

Hell, no. Despite the Hero System being a much, much, _much_ less lethal set of rules than those of AD&D, Champions was FAR more deadly to my poor players than D&D ever was! Why, I'm still not sure. No resurrection option, perhaps?

You also have to keep in mind that one player often wound up with several PCs (not together, though). Sometimes, a player would simply retire a PC they felt wasn't working out and create a new one. I don't blame them. 4th edition Hero was great fun for creating characters; much more so than 1st edition AD&D, in my opinion.

**Wait a minute. I thought 3W had too many characters to keep track of. How many PCs are we talking about this time around?**

At a rough guess, a little over 130.

Can I get some smelling salts over here?

Relax. They aren't all "onscreen" at once. Remember, you're talking 16 years of role-playing here, plus a cast of over 30 people who brought all these PCs to life. I'd say 4-7 PCs are the average for a session, although the actual number has ranged from one to- on one occasion- a dozen. Look at any soap opera that's been running for twenty or thirty years. Same idea.

**What style was your campaign? Four-color, dark and gritty, anime or what?**

It was everything. Absolutely everything. It started out reasonably four-color, although I always strove for a somewhat more "realistic" tone. As the years progressed, that grimmer tone became more and more predominant. Soon, vigilante heroes appeared and finally even a villain group (albeit that was unintentional). There was blood, there was death, and there were serious issues abound. Comedy never left- some issues and characters had us rolling around on the floor and you'll see that for sure- but there was never any subject that was out of bounds if I felt I could make it an integral part of a storyline, as opposed just being there for shock value. From drug abuse, political assassinations to the Holocaust, the darkness that sometimes appeared in this campaign was frankly astounding, now that I come to think about it.

**Is there sex?**

Yes. It's only in a few places, and it's not gratuitous, but reader discretion is most definitely advised.

**You mentioned your two campaigns shared the same players?**

For the most part, although around 1987 a new crew joined the old one, and then more jumped on board as _Champions: Rochester_ began.

Dave, who played the ranger Elrohir, in many ways the central character of 3W, appears here primarily as Enigmus, one of the few PCs that made it through the entire gauntlet. I've known Dave since 5th grade, and he is a joy to have around the gaming table. He's always there for you.

Eric, whom I've known for about as long, makes the transition from the immortal Argo Bigfellow Junior to such characters as the New Centurion, Tempest (The "Warrior-Born"), Phoenix and Rayden, but we'll always know him best in _Champions_ as William Archer, aka Bowmaster. Eric is not only a GM's best friend, if you can call him a friend in real life, you are absolutely blessed. Take it from me.

_Campaign's_ one-of-a-kind paladin Aslan was actually played by two people. The first, a gentleman named Sol, makes truly memorable PCs. Here he is the legendary Mightor, along with Manrik-Gusari and others. It was Sol who first clued me in (and worried me) that certain heroes might be a bit more bloodthirsty than others. Or at least a lot more careless in where they threw around mega-blasts.

I've lost touch with Bryan, who played Aslan for most of his existence (including all of his appearances to date in 3W). He was on board for the very beginning of Champions, but both he and his character Pyro were gone by the time our story begins here. It's too bad. Read 3W and you'll see what a great role-player he is.

If you like the character of Yanigasawa Tojo in 3W, you'll be glad to know that my long-time friend Glenn plays many PCs in _Champions, _but none so beloved as The Mystic Savant (who is neither mystic nor a savant). And for those of you who can't stand Tojo's accent in 3W, that was my creation, not Glenn's, although Savant's atrocious French accent is all his. Glenn always brings his all to the table, and I'm glad for it.

Arlene is a total gem. Ask anyone who's ever played with her. She was great as Nesco Cynewine in 3W, but Arlene really came into her own in _Champions_ (IMHO) with characters such as Polaris, Medusa, Marionette and Palette. I know she'll kill for me for saying this, but Arlene is so enthusiastic and "into the moment" that her characters sometimes make these tactical missteps that turn a close battle into the biggest debacle you've ever seen in your friggin' life. And yet none of us would have it any other way. We all love and cherish her presence among us. You're the best, kiddo.

Not all of the original gang show up here. Lewis (Dave's brother) was the consummate mage Cygnus, but here he has only a cameo as Guitarman about half-way through. He always preferred D&D. His loss here is our loss everywhere, and for those in the know, I mean that with all my heart.

Likewise, Arlene's husband Lou M (Zantac) opted out of Champions completely. He'd have been one of the greats, I know it. He always is.

There's not room enough here for me to expound on all the new players who join the old guard here, but they are every bit as good, both as role-players and as friends, as the originals. Rich, Vince, Jim, Lou R, Drew, Tom, Fred and Scott from Scotland really launched this campaign into overdrive with their incredible characters. In fact, in the latter half of the campaign their characters became the preeminent ones as I saw less of the original gang. I am honored and frankly awed to have been their GM.

And let's not forget my Rochester crew at SUNY Brockport. Matt, Joe, Cary, Howie, Phil, Craig, Trish, Tammy and many others. A great group of guys and gals who made being four years of being 300 miles from home a lot more fun. Sadly, I've lost touch with them all. If any of you are reading this, shoot me an email.

**How much original material is in this campaign?**

Original? Original?

*sound of hysterical laughter*

I used every friggin' Champion sourcebook that ever came out, from 1st to 4th edition. I also cribbed ideas furiously from every source I could steal- I mean, get inspiration- from. Yes, the PCs are original (or as original as any superhero can be nowadays), and many of my NPCs are (Even, anyone?), but if you're at all familiar with the world of Champions, you'll be in very familiar territory.

Sharp-eyed readers may see the bare bones of material such as the Gene Hackman movie _The Package_ or Tony Hillerman's novel _The Dark Wind_, to name just two sources that I turned into superhero scenarios. My point here is that inspiration can be found anywhere and everywhere. Even in a certain "Stupendous" NPC or the Funtastic World of Hannah-Barbera.

Trust me. It will all make sense eventually.

And now, let the heroics begin…


	2. A World In Need

**BOOK 1- A WORLD IN NEED**

**Wednesday, April 29, 1987**

* * *

**XERTAN SHUTTLE ONLY ONE DAY FROM EARTH, NASA REPORTS**

Houston- NASA scientists have released their latest figures on the trajectory of the small craft that is believed to have originated from the great space cruiser of the Xertan alien who calls himself "Traveler." They confirm that the small ship, estimated at approximately 35 feet in length, has not altered its course and is still heading for Earth.

Communications have been repeatedly attempted with the shuttle, but there has been no reply since it was first detected three days ago, emerging from behind the planet Jupiter. The ship is being tracked by radar, but scientists cannot predict whether it will settle down into an Earth orbit or land tomorrow.

Speculation continues as to the location- or the fate- of the larger ship. Signals being transmitted by one or more of the terrestrial superheroes aboard the craft were cut off a day earlier, on April 25th, as the Xertan craft moved behind Jupiter. It has not reappeared, but persistent rumors that the ship burned up in the Jovian atmosphere or exploded in some fashion have been repeatedly downplayed by NASA.

"We just don't have the information yet to make a determination," stated John Young, newly appointed as assistant to NASA center director Forest McCarthy. He did state that it was "extremely unlikely" that the cruiser has assumed orbit around Jupiter. "We'd have detected it by now," said Young. "Even if it was in a geosynchronous stationary orbit , the immense size of Jupiter would mean the spaceship would have to be at such a huge distance from the planet that we would have been able to detect it anyway."

Major Juan Martinez, commander of UNTIL, stated all forces were in readiness in case there was any kind of "hostile reaction" from the ship as it approached Earth, but would not elaborate.

President Reagan, in a televised address on Monday, urged all Americans to remain calm, but while there has been intense curiosity over the entire incident, which began with the appearance of Traveler's cruiser over the UN building in New York, there has been little sense of general alarm. The latest Harris Poll figures show only 15% of Americans surveyed feel there is cause for "grave concern" over recent developments.

* * *

**LIST OF HEROES, VILLAINS WHO LEFT EARTH STILL INCOMPLETE**

New York- Five days after a number of paranormals apparently boarded Traveler's star cruiser and left Earth orbit, authorities still do not have an accurate count of exactly who may have left with the Xertan, or even if they were all true paranormals.

"It's harder to figure out than you might think," said William Gorman, the Silver Avenger based out of PRIMUS' Manhattan base. "Freelance capes don't keep to a regular schedule. Just because a given cape hasn't been seen in a few days doesn't mean he's in outer space right now. A lot of times weeks pass before there's a sighting of any given paranormal."

The latest list, released early today by Police Chief Benjamin Ward and which he stated had been cross-verified by PRIMUS and UNTIL, included the five known members of the hero group _The Champions. _They include their leader Phaser, Expert-X, Freedom Flyer, Brick and Persona. None of them have been seen at their team headquarters at the SuperCenter (formerly the CitiCorp Center before its recent purchase by the team).

Confusing the matter are several individuals who had been thought to join several days prior to Traveler's appearance. The Champions had made no public statements regarding new additions to their team, but those experts in the field of paranormal psychology believe that the any new recruits may have been undergoing a probationary evaluation period before being accepted and subsequently announced to the public.

Information from a variety of workers at the SuperCenter have mentioned the name "Pyro." While there are several matches to that name in current paranormal databases, none are believed to be the individual in question, according to PRMUS. "Capes change their handles all the time," said William Gorman. "Especially when they've got something to hide."

Curiously, two other individuals who were believed to be involved recently with The Champions in some way were mentioned. One was known only by the name of "Max," but was believed to be a paranormal. The other was Tony Mazeretti, owner of Tony's World-Class Gym in lower Manhattan. Police confirm that Mr. Mazeretti, an Italian immigrant who has no known family in America, was last seen on April 23rd, but they say there is no evidence, even circumstantial, that was found in Tony's apartment that points to him being a paranormal. Authorities are currently trying to contact relatives Mazeretti was reputed to have in Naples, Italy. They had no comment on the theory that "Max" and Mr. Mazeretti may be one and the same.

The remaining paranormals all reportedly are part of the so-called _Veil of Darkness, _a self-proclaimed vigilante group operating in the city since mid-March. Their leader, who called himself The Great Remover, reportedly has brick-red skin, and so many have assumed that he is also a Xertan, although the Remover never made any such claim himself. The other two known members of The Veil, Insectoid and Transceiver, are thought to have accompanied their leader onto the Xertan cruiser, but this is as yet still unconfirmed. Lt. Timothy Clark of the NYPD Paranormal Division has also mentioned a man known only as "Darkshadow," whom he believes was either an ally or recent recruit for The Veil, who may or may not have gone with the rest of the group.

* * *

**KOCH SAYS CITY ON EDGE OF BANKRUPTCY; BLAMES PARANORMAL PROPERTY DESTRUCTION**

New York- The mayor's office has issued a report stating that the cost of repairing all the property damage caused by battles between paranormals topped $6 billion in 1986, and so far 1987 seems to be on a course that will exceed even that figure.

The report again repeated the mayor's earlier warnings that insurance companies may soon stop issuing policies that cover property destruction from so-called "superhero battles" altogether, despite three consecutive years of double-digit premium increases.

"Property damage is rising faster than we can pay for it," Mayor Ed Koch stated. "It's unfair that the citizens of this great city have to suffer for the irresponsibility for a few wackos, but that's the way it is."

Thomas Sheer, head of the New York office of the Bureau Of Superhero Standards, said the report showed the need for the Paranormal Registration Act.

"Perhaps people who can't understand the human scale of the suffering we're talking about here will comprehend it a bit better when their own pocketbooks start taking the hit," Sheer said at a press conference that aired shortly after the mayor's report was released. "All paranormals need to be identified and registered, so that they- not city government, not local businesses and not private citizens- can be held responsible for the damage that results solely from their own reckless actions."

Koch called the BOSS position "nuts."

"What are you going to do?" the mayor asked. "Drive all the heroes out of business? Because that's what's going to happen if that Act ever passes. Does BOSS think all the villains are going to retire because all the independent heroes are forced to? That's wacko! BOSS has been riding this losing horse for over a decade now. They really should know when to quit."

Anthony Mills, a local BOSS arbiter, refuted Koch's comments.

"That's all subjective," Mills said. "Everyone thinks they're the good guy. The only real good guys are the normal citizens. They're the ones losing their livelihood, their health and all too often, their lives."


	3. Arrival

**BOOK 2- THE FROCHEN**

**Issue 1- Arrival**

**Thursday, April 30, 1987**

**New Jersey**

_That wasn't a meteorite. That was the spaceship__**.**_

That was the first of three thoughts that went through Tim's mind when he, along with several thousand other commuters, saw the bright light appear in the sky and silently plunge to earth towards the south, disappearing somewhere in the distance.

Tim's second thought was _that wasn't a landing. It was a crash._

And the third was _please God; don't let it have hit Hudson City. Please don't let it have hit my home._

Lieutenant Timothy Clark, NYPD, had to restrain himself from leaning on his horn in frustration. It would have been an utterly futile act, of course. His 1984 blue Dodge Diplomat (two payments left) was stuck, as it was every Friday night, in the mass of cars spewing out of the Holland Tunnel into New Jersey, each one containing one or more exhausted occupants more than ready for the upcoming weekend.

Clark wished he had one of those new cellular phones, but they were bulky, expensive, and not always reliable Of course all the federal boys, like the FBI and PRIMUS, already had more advanced versions that could fit into one's pocket and would work almost anywhere in the country, but such costly gizmos were only for the favored sons of the special interests.

Cops were only favored sons of their parents.

Still, Tim wasn't totally deaf. He reached over to the dash and switched on his police scanner.

At first, there was a lot of confusion. The 911 switchboard was being flooded- no surprise there. As Clark inched his car onto the Garden State Turnpike and turned south, he listened intently, trying to discern what might be relevant from what wasn't.

Soon, he began to hear it.

* * *

"Adam 6, what's your 20?"

"3rd D, Riverside Hills. 98."

"Head west to city limits and assist state troopers in traffic control at entrance to Wharton State Forest."

"10-4. Is State T in charge?"

"Park rangers are at scene, but troopers will take over. Least 'till they get kicked out."

"FBI or PRIMUS?"

"Both, probably. Maybe UNTIL as well."

"Eff us all. So it was that ship, huh?"

"Don't have a definite yet. May have been a prop-job, but don't count on it. First reports say it come down less than a mile from the entrance; right in the woods."

"Coulda been a lot worse, then. Rangers call for 59?"

"Yeah. Two rigs already en route from HC."

"How about casualties? Anybody ask for a bus?"

"Yeah, but that's SOP. Ain't no one on that ship going to be leaving in anything but the meat wagon."

"Capes, dispatch. Capes. You never know."

"10-4. What's your ETA?"

"Heavy traffic. About 15."

"Call in on arrival. Out."

Clark leaned back and tried hard to ignore the unsettling feeling rising in his stomach like bile. He'd been a cop too long to puke at anything he saw, no matter how disgusting or revolting, but he'd been trying- and failing- to convince his fellow police officers for years that sometimes what you thought could be a hundred times worse than what you saw.

Because what you saw was all too often only the tip of the iceberg.

Tim turned his radio to WINE-88, his personal choice for news radio, but even they had less info than he had right now, so they filled air time with pointless speculation and rehashes of the whole Xertan incident to this date. How this Traveler had apparently requested as many paranormals as possible to accompany him in what was presumed to be some sort of rescue mission. By the time the authorities had determined diplomatic jurisdiction and reacted, the cruiser was gone. Unofficially, Clark knew, every law enforcement official in the Tri-State area had breathed a sigh of relief. The situation had left before it had ever become a problem.

But now the situation was back and if the feeling in Tim's gut was any indicator at all, it had brought a full-grown problem back with it.

He peered through his windshield. Exit 50 was coming up. The exit ramp had two lanes. The green highway sign indicated the right lane as "Hudson City- North Truman Blvd."

The left lane was marked "Wharton State Forest" and "To Philadelphia."

Clark considered.

His wife was waiting at home for him. There'd be a hot dinner waiting. Not spectacular, but he hadn't married Rose for her culinary skills, just as she hadn't married him for his ability to leave his job at the office.

He knew she'd have the news on; probably NBC. She'd look over at the clock on the kitchen wall, calculate that he'd be on the Turnpike by now; knew that he'd be deciding if he should head over to the crash site and offer to help.

And Rose Clark knew that her husband was going to do exactly that.

Timothy Clark sighed, silently apologized to his wife for what was one more time in what was already a list of too-many times, and angled his car into the left lane.

* * *

It had rained earlier that afternoon, and the flashing red and yellow lights ahead seemed to sparkle on the wet road as Clark slowly pulled up to the lead officer at the roadblock. He rolled down his window and displayed his badge.

"Detective Clark. NYPD."

The New Jersey state trooper, a man with about five years and thirty pounds on Clark gave his ID a cursory badge and flashed him a condescending smile. "A little out of our jurisdiction, aren't we, Mr. Clark? Sorry, no sightseers. I've got work to do here."

"Look a little closer, officer. Lieutenant, Paranormal Division."

The trooper's smile melted off his face, to be replaced by a cold glare.

"Are you going to tell me you've confirmed that there are absolutely no New York City paranormals at this scene whatsoever, officer?" Clark persisted when the trooper neither move nor spoke. "Several of them are on our Wanted List. I could-"

"You coulda just mentioned that straight off, Lieutenant," he muttered, waving him through.

"You're a credit to the enemy, officer. Stay the course." Tim flipped him a warm smile and waved at the trooper as he slowly eased his Diplomat around the barricades.

* * *

There had indeed been a fire, but now only black smoke rose upwards from the remains of what Clark presumed had once been a Xertan spacecraft. He was curious to get a closer look, but firefighters were still working on it, and two men in suits who may as well have had "FBI" tattooed on the foreheads were talking together next to a black Ford nearby, occasionally glancing around to se if anyone was trying to get too close. Tim knew the feds could and probably would order him off the scene, so he stayed clear. Besides, he soon spotted what interested him most.

A number of supers, most of whom Tim recognized, were clustered together in a knot about fifty yards from the crash site. Some were standing, some were sitting and some were lying on the ground, not moving. Several EMS from a nearby ambulance were attending to them.

In a loose ring around them were six men clad in blue uniforms, each with a small American flag emblazoned on the left shoulder. They wore red hoods with polarized goggles, and their gloves and boots were white. Anyone who'd watched more than an hour of TV in their lives would have recognized them as assault agents of the Primary Response and Interdiction Military Unified Service.

Lt. Clark knew PRIMUS, and despite the fact that he often worked with them, Lt. Clark did not like their combat agents in general, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Trying to look as if he belonged there, Tim pulled out a palm-sized spiral notebook from his tan trench coat, fished around in his pockets until he found a pencil and began taking notes while he slowly began to search for the best vantage point that would enable him to eavesdrop on this gathering unobserved.

* * *

The woman sitting on the ground was probably in her mid-40's. Her black wig, streaked with red, lay in a burned and discarded heap on the ground nearby. Her actual hair was light brown and already graying. What there was of it that hadn't been burned off, anyway.

The woman made a motion for the female paramedic who was putting burn cream on her scalp to cease.

"I need a moment with him."

The EMS, a diminutive Latina, shook her head. "If you don't want to go to a hospital- which you need to- at least let me do what I can. Can you take that off?' she gestured at the visor covering the older woman's eyes. "I need to see if your eyes are-"

"My eyes are fine," the paranormal woman responded, her voice empty of any irritation or anger. "Thank you. I know you're just doing your job. Please," she took the paramedic's hand and squeezed it. "Let me do mine."

The EMS shook her head dolefully and glanced at the costume the woman was wearing, which featured red and blue horizontal stripes. It covered the woman from her feet to her neck, exempting only her hands, which were now also red, but with burns. There was enough padding to suggest some protection, but not a lot. The paramedic looked again at the woman and gave her a thin smile.

"They say horizontal stripes make you look fat, you know."

Despite herself, the woman chuckled. The last time she had checked, her 5'5" frame sported no more than 112 pounds. "I'll keep that in mind," she said softly, smiling back at the EMS who now turned her attentions elsewhere. The woman than returned her attention to the man sitting on her other side, who was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, his gloved hands tightly clutching his legs, rocking back and forth.

This man's costume was what paranormal fashion experts, if that term wasn't the oxymoron so many claimed it was, would call a "violet fade." His hood, which had no eyeholes at all, was such a deep violet as to be almost black. This faded into lighter shades of violet and indigo, then lavender, then pink and finally at white boots. Unlike the woman, the man's costume was skin-tight, with no sign of padding or armor.

"Phaser," the woman said. She placed a hand on his left shoulder. The man seemed to wince, but made no other response.

The woman bent down so that her lips were almost touching the side of the man's hood.

"Phaser," she whispered. "It's me, Persona."

He made no response other than to continue rocking back and forth.

"Jack, it's Angela," Persona whispered again.

"It hurts."

The man's whisper was quieter than Persona's. Even she almost missed it.

"I know, Jack, but we can't stay here. There are going to be too many questions. We have to get out of here before they decide to bring us in for questioning right now. We can't let them, Jack- they couldn't accept the truth. We have to regroup somewhere where we can get our bearings and get set amongst us all what we're going to say. Not the SuperCenter- they'll be expecting us to go there. Can you-"

"The truth?"

Phaser had swung his head around so that his featureless mask now faced Persona directly. She shuddered slightly, knowing that he could see her all too clearly. Under her visor, if he wished. Even through her costume.

"What is the truth, Persona?" Phaser repeated, his voice loud enough now for everyone to hear. "Have you figured that out yet? Can you explain what it was we saw- what we felt- _what we did--_ out there? And are they gone, Persona? Can you tell me with absolute certainty that they are really gone? That we destroyed them?"

"They're gone, Phaser." Persona got to her feet and tried to pull Phaser onto his, but he just sat there. "If they were still here, Phaser, wouldn't you now? Wouldn't we all know? Wouldn't we all feel them? You heard what Traveler said- they have to feed. We stopped them from doing that. They starved, Phaser. Both of them. They starved to death."

"They were never alive, Persona," Phaser replied, his voice a dull monotone now. "Not like us. Not like anything. Not like anything else in this universe."

Persona glanced around, worry etched onto her face now. The PRIMUS agents were looking at each other and frowning. One pulled out a phone and began to speak into it while another bent down to address Phaser.

"You need to come with us, sir. If there's even a question of National Security being endangered, you're required to by law for debriefing."

Phaser made no response. The agent made to grab his arm, but a hand that looked to be entirely made out of solid bricks grabbed the agent's arm first.

"_Only thing you need do is leave him alone!"_

That incredible brick-like hand was attached to an equally incredible brick-like body. Six and-a-half feet in height and probably 500 pounds in weight at the least.

The agent stared into the angry yellow eyes of the hero named, amply enough, Brick. The hero was applying just enough pressure to hurt, but not enough to injure.

The agent nodded his assent and Brick relinquished his grip. Persona rose to her feet now, abandoning her attempts to get Phaser to rise.

"I can assure you, agent, that there is no danger here, either to National Security or otherwise."

"Yeah," cut in the agent with the phone. "You all look just fine and dandy. You start talking and we'll make the policy decisions. For starters, where are the others? Pyro, Insectoid, that Mazeretti guy, Kampfstern-"

Despite her visor, the lines suddenly wrinkling Persona's forehead indicated that last name had taken her by surprise.

"Yeah, we knew," the agent went on, not bothering to hide the smugness in his voice. "That German hero- what's his name translate to?"

"Battlestar," said Brick.

"We knew he snuck aboard that ship, too. Any others you want to tell us about?"

"I'll save you the trouble."

The new speaker was a man in a dark green costume that featured a small white "X" on the chest. Numerous small electronic devices were attached to a belt that ran across his chest, like an old-style Mexican bandit with a bandolier. A green cap covered his head, and what looked like an extremely high-tech pair of red-tinted sunglasses covered his eyes. His jaw and chin were covered in several days' worth of stubble.

"They're dead, officer. They're all dead," said Expert-X. "Please notify their next of kin that we regret not being able to bring back their bodies. We were in a bit of a rush to get onboard the shuttle and get away before the cruiser blew itself to atoms."

The PRIMUS agents all glanced at each other again. The two FBI men had wandered over as well and were now listening attentively.

"Why did it-" one of them began but X interrupted him, his voice still curt and clipped, ignoring Persona's shaking her head and other silent entreaties for him to shut up.

"Battlestar set the engines to overload. As for who killed those who didn't make it…"

He took a deep breath.

"They murdered each other."

The federal agents were silent again. The PRIMUS agent with the phone, who appeared to be the squad commander, found his voice first.

"Why?"

"I have no idea," Expert-X lied.

The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, and then the agent gestured down to his feet, where several figures lay unmoving.

"You got those bodies onboard. Why them and not the others?"

"These people were still alive when we boarded the shuttle."

The agent's mouth tightened.

"So who killed _them?"_

"We did."

The agent took a step back. From fear, shock, or just plain disbelief, Expert-X couldn't tell, and wasn't interested. He took a step forward to stay nearly nose-to-nose with the PRIMUS agent.

"And before you say anything extremely stupid, which I suspect you're about to do, let me state something so blindingly obvious only PRIMUS would need reminding of it."

He smiled.

"You don't have jurisdiction over anything that happens in outer space."

He knelt down to the ground to talk to Phaser, but he turned up to look one last time at the agent.

"Now leave us the fuck alone."

* * *

The agent abruptly and inexplicably smiled.

"Sure thing, Expert. I have something else I want to check on, anyway."

With a swift hand gesture, he ordered two of his fellow assault agents to accompany him and he strode quickly away from the group of heroes, heading back towards the ruins of the crashed ship.

"Shit," hissed X and got up to go after him. "Watch over Phaser and the others," he said, throwing off Persona's attempt to restrain him.

The agent commander stopped at a distance of about twenty yards from the wreckage, behind a copse of partially charred bushes.

"Weapons," he said, and he and the two others holstered their energy carbine rifles from off their shoulder slings. He looked over and smiled as X came running up.

"What do you make of this, Expert?' he asked, holding his rifle in one hand while plucking a flashlight off its magnetic belt holder and shining it down on the ground.

In the dirt was a large but shallow depression. The squad commander slowly reached out with his feet and stopped perhaps a foot above the earth.

"I do believe I feel something, boys," he announced, bringing his foot back. "My official judgment is that it's some kind of invisible alien. Let's find out, shall we?"

He pointed his rifle towards the ground, as did the other two agents. "On my mark. One, two-"

"_Stop!"_ shouted Expert-X.

That smug, confident expression returned to the PRIMUS commander's face.

"Unless you have further information to offer me, _cape,"_ he dragged the last word out. "I'd suggest you leave us the fuck alone or I'll have you arrested."

Expert-X swore softly, then plucked what looked like a small TV remote from his belt, pointed it at the depression and pushed a button on it.

* * *

A girl appeared on the ground.

She was perhaps sixteen or seventeen, the commander guessed and then corrected himself mentally.

_Sixteen or seventeen in Earth years._

She was a Xertan; her deep red skin made that obvious. Unlike the male Xertans the agent had seen photos of, the girl had hair; lots of jet-black hair that would, if she had been sitting or standing up, have reached down just past her shoulders. It looked odd though, and it took the agent a moment to realize the hair follicles of this Xertan were at least two or three times as thick as those of human hair. He found the overall effect rather unattractive.

The girl wore an orange costume with blue designs upon it of an unfamiliar nature. It covered the same breadth as a high-necked tank swimsuit would. On her feet were dark blue high-top boots, similar to what he'd seen the male Xertans wore. Around her waist was a leather belt with a small box attached to it, similar to the control X held in his hand.

At first he thought the Xertan was dead, and then unconscious, but then the agent became aware that the girl was shivering slightly, her arms drawn over her face. He looked over at Expert-X, who was now kneeling down and removing her leather belt.

"That Xertan shuttle wasn't on the cruiser," X said, choosing his words carefully. "It came out of hyperspace in front of us when we were near Jupiter, preparing to go into hyperdrive ourselves. It requested to dock. Traveler agreed."

The agent frowned. "It came from their home planet?"

X nodded. "Xerta. There were two of them aboard. An older male and her," he said, indicating the girl at their feet.

"And where's the other one- the pilot I presume?" asked the PRIMUS commander. "Don't tell me you blew him away as well."

"I don't remember which one of actually did it, but in essence, yes."

"Where's Traveler?" one of the other agents now spoke up. "And don't tell me you killed him as well. Not even on your best day."

"Won't argue with you there," Expert-X shrugged. "He and the Great Remover got into a bit of a brawl. Seems the latter wanted to be in command. While they were fighting, they crashed right through the hull of the damn ship. We ran, but auto-repair systems kicked in and sealed the breach. Later the Remover came back. Claimed he'd killed Traveler. None of us believed it, but we were too busy at the moment to care."

"That's right," said the squad leader. "Too busy slaughtering each other like pigs. Care to give us the full story now, X? You'll be saving yourself an awful lot of aggravation; I promise you that."

"What can I say, commander?" Expert-X shrugged again. "I think we all just wanted to get to play Psychopathic Mass Killer for once and not have to face any legal consequences for it, so when we got the chance-"

"Can the crap," the agent snarled. His phone beeped again, and he flipped open the lid with undisguised irritation. "Chanders. What?" he spat.

He listened for a moment and then nodded, although his expression, if anything, soured still more. "Right. Out."

Agent Chanders hadn't even put his phone away when there were shouts from the rest of his squad back in the clearing.

"Sir! Incoming!"

"Hold your fire!" Chanders shouted back. It was clear this was not an order he enjoyed giving. "It's just that damn Orrad from METE!"

X, now squatting down and taking the Xertan girl into his arms, looked up to see a gold-and-silver armored figure land about thirty feet away as his boot jet rockets cut out. He began to slowly walk towards them; one hand held up in the universal gesture for peace with the other raised his visor revealing a light blue-skinned handsome face with light green eyes. Expert-X momentarily wondered if the concept of a suntan was unique to Earthlings in the universe.

"Do not fire," Orrad said. His voice was strong and unusually smooth. "It is only I, Orrad, and I wish to-"

"We know who the hell you are," said Chanders. "How'd you get over here from DC so fast?"

"I was not in our national capitol, nor at the Metropolitan Extra-Terrestrial Enclave outside of Richmond," Orrad stated calmly. "I believed the Xertan craft would return to the United Nations building in New York City, since that was where Traveler had first appeared, so that was where I stationed myself. With the full consent of UNTIL and all other appropriate authorities, of course." He bowed slightly and then looked over at the wreckage of the shuttle. "Obviously, I was mistaken."

"You think?" one of Chander's men sneered, but his commander cut him short with a gesture.

"I'm going to get instructions," Chanders said, more to Expert-X than to Orrad. "Don't touch anything, and don't take anyone away from this site." And with that, he and his men stalked off, signaling the other PRIMUS agents and the FBI men for a confab where the others would not overhear them.

Orrad started to speak, but X motioned for him not to. The Xertan girl was now upright, but her eyes remained tightly closed, and she seemed to be extremely weak. Each with one hand under an arm, X and Orrad guided her back towards the others.

* * *

"Damn spook knew I'd hidden her there," the Expert groused. He eyed the leather belt in his hand. "Don't know how he knew, but-"

"Do not underestimate PRIMUS," Brick grumbled in his Russian-accented English. "Just because they are arrogant does not make them ignorant."

"Guilt and anger," whispered Phaser, apparently to himself.

X frowned and glanced over to Persona, who shook her head.

"He's been saying that for the last few minutes," she said.

"Great," Expert-X sighed. "Our team leader is off his rocker, we have a situation here no one will ever understand-"

"Not even ourselves, I suspect," Persona said softly.

X turned his face away from the others so he could remove his glasses and wipe his face with a handkerchief from his pocket, and then turned back to regard the others. "So what do we do now?"

There was a sudden sharp cry of distress.

The others started, but it was the Xertan girl, who had apparently opened her eyes while still keeping her face down.

It was truly an unfortunate coincidence that the body which was lying at her feet was that of the Great Remover.

The girl sank to her knees and ran her hands over the male Xertan's body in a fashion that struck X as half- medical and half-erotica, although the expression on the young Xertan's face certainly seemed to be nothing but grief-stricken. Unintelligible sounds continued to issue forth from her.

"I'm sorry," Persona said, now kneeling alongside the girl as well. "There was nothing we could do to save him-"

"Apart from perhaps not blowing him away in the first place," X couldn't stop himself from the grim rejoinder.

The others looked uncomfortable and Orrad shocked, but X did not shy away from their reproachful looks. "It was him or us, as I recall."

"Perhaps," Brick admitted. "But it was you who rigged up compressed CO2 generator once you learned of the Xertan's wulnerability. You were quick to employ it."

"I'm quick to want to stay alive," snapped X.

"This conversation seems inappropriate at this time," commented Persona, indicating the Xertan girl next to her.

"Guilt and anger," whispered Phaser.

"She doesn't savvy English, Persona," X reminded her. He then looked thoughtful. "How about your telepathy?"

"This is not the time or place," she replied, "particularly if she panics once she realizes what I'm doing. The Remover said she was one of their Elites, like himself and Traveler. That means she can fly, and we don't know how fast. The last thing we want is for us to wind up chasing her across the skies."

"If I may," commented Orrad. "I believe this young woman should be examined at the Enclave. It can also serve you as a temporary- what is the word- hangout, perhaps?"

"A good plan," Brick rumbled. "I like."

"We need to hear from everyone," Persona said.

"Agreed." Expert-X walked over to where the last of The Champions stood. "Phaser's already gone south, Flyer. We need you here with us. What do you say?"

Freedom Flyer turned around to look at him.

* * *

The Expert knew her real name was Tracey, although he didn't know her last name. It seemed incongruous that with that _hair, _she could possibly maintain any kind of a secret identity. He knew it wasn't a wig. Perhaps she could change its appearance at will, but if Freedom Flyer had ever taken time off for a life as Tracey someone, X didn't know about it.

Contrary to the wet dreams of countless fan boys, most female heroines did not run around in skin-tight outfits, even if they all had had the improbable body dimensions to do so.

Freedom Flyer was probably the most famous exception to that rule.

In perhaps early 20's by most people's best estimate, Flyer wore only a blue bathing suit, cut in a V that reached right down to her navel. It was strapless, and showed enough of her ample gifts that it- there was no denying it- had slowed down more than one male villain in the midst of a fight long enough for him to be taken in.

She usually wore high blue boots and blue gloves, blue straps across her calves, and a blue domino mask that covered perhaps a third of her face. Her skin was pale- despite all the sun Freedom Flyer was always exposed to, she never showed the slightest sign of a tan.

Perhaps she was an alien herself, X mused. More likely she was a mutant, like Persona. He neither knew nor cared. What did matter to him that was, for all his cynicism, he had to admit that Freedom Flyer was the owner of the best heart he'd ever known a human being to have.

Her lack of knowledge about almost any subject you could think of was remarkable, since she seemed to possess a keen intellect. Once shown the particulars of a situation, she often came up with solutions that evaded the others. She wasn't exceptionally powerful as paranormals went- she could fly and project an energy blast of a type that as far as X knew, had not been analyzed. That was about it.

But he had never seen Tracey get angry. Never heard her raise her voice. She was never sarcastic or pessimistic. Even when the others, in the midst of terrible and seemingly insurmountable situations, called her "Hairhead" for her relentless optimism, she was their smiling rock, their anchor. Her worst and most inconvenient failing was a complete and utter fear of flying over water, which she could never explain.

Perhaps the oddest thing was that, despite her revealing outfit, Freedom Flyer showed so little sign of sexuality that the whole team was not only certain she was still a virgin, but that the betting at last count had been 10-1 that she had never even kissed a boy, or a man. Whenever any sexual topic was broached, she would simply blush, shrug her shoulders and, if the questioner was persistent enough, leave the room.

Expert-X had thought that Freedom Flyer would have been one of the first to die once the living nightmare of what they had encountered in the depths of the solar system began to reveal it self- themselves- to this mixed band of humans and Xertans. Or if not dead, to have been driven utterly and completely insane, her fragile mind far too weak to withstand the unimaginable horror.

But it hadn't happened. True, she wasn't smiling anymore- that alone was remarkable- and remarkably sad in a way Expert-X had never imagined, and she was very quiet, even more so than usual. But Freedom Flyer was still with them.

_Maybe_, X thought, _there just might be a god after all._

Tracey turned around to face Expert-X. Her massive mane of snow-white hair, which fell to about the back of her knees, wrapped itself around her, as if to shield her from the night's chill.

"I think we should go to METE," Freedom Flyer said. "Marie Dumont, their founder and administrator, is a good person. I'll think she'll help us out, or at least give us time to find our footing. Those of you with secret identities may have some explaining to do to family and co-workers. I know you weren't given time to prepare before we all left with Traveler."

Orrad nodded in silent agreement.

"And what about you?" X asked, but Freedom Flyer merely shrugged.

"You know Phaser nominated you for Deputy Leader," Persona mentioned, but Flyer shook her head.

"I wouldn't make a good leader," she said to Expert-X, her voice so soft as to be barely above a whisper. "You know that. I'll help in whatever way I can, but-"

"They are taking Transceiver!" Brick called out suddenly.

* * *

The paramedics had just finished loading the last remaining surviving paranormal onto a stretcher, but the PRIMUS agents had stopped them from loading the unconscious Transceiver into their ambulance.

"We have a helicopter coming," Chanders told them. "We'll treat him at our base. He is a wanted vigilante, after all."

He spoke into his phone again. "He's ready to load once the chopper gets here. Just make sure you don't give him his one phone call if he wakes up, no matter how badly he pleads. That's how he got away the last time he was caught- teleported away along the phone wires."

"What if his lawyer demands it?" came a tinny voice out of the phone.

"I don't know- put him on speakerphone or something!" Chanders snapped and shut the call off. He glared over at the heroes, as if daring them to try and stop him, but they merely looked at him impassively.

"You can take over now," he told the two FBI men in his usual condescending tone before turning away and heading of with the rest of his squad. He then turned over his shoulder for one last look at the Champions.

"And leave those two!" he called out. "We've got a xenopathologist on the way. He'll take care of them. I trust you can look after a couple of corpses? After all, you made 'em!"

Expert-X clenched his fist but Persona put her hand on his shoulder.

"He's just baiting you," she told him. "That's 101 from the PRIMUS rulebook."

"I'd like to cram that book down his throat," the Expert muttered.

"With acid chaser," Brick added, and X allowed himself a chuckle at the image.

"Guilt and anger," whispered Phaser.

Expert-X sighed and knelt down by the other body.

* * *

He was a human. Male, Caucasian, young, judging by his hands. The man who had called himself "Darkshadow" did not wear a costume, although he had dressed all in black; T-shirt, sweater, jeans; even black Nikes. Over his head was a simple black ski mask.

_Guess he doesn't need that any more_, thought X, and he pulled the mask off.

Even younger than he guessed. Twenty, tops. A kid. New to the Game. Too new.

The Expert had seen Darkshadow's powers. Basic invisibility, and the ability to absorb incoming kinetic energy and reconvert it to an attack form. It'd probably worked just fine for him when he started hunting and killing muggers and gangbangers. He'd never known what the limits of his power might be; might even have been unaware that superpowers always had limits.

Or what happens when you breach them. Certainly, the Great Remover, who'd demonstrated no respect for life whatsoever, wouldn't have cautioned his young recruit to test and hone his powers first. Find out what he could and couldn't do. No sense holding your soldiers back when war is at hand.

He looked again at the young man's face. He guessed it looked more peaceful than any of theirs did right now.

"I wonder," Expert-X said quietly. "If anyone will ever miss this son-of-a-bitch."

"His mother," came a voice from behind him. "Esther Patterson. Lives in Brooklyn. His name's Henry- went by Hank. Only child. Long rap sheet as a juvie. Left home about a year ago, no forwarding address. Probably when his mutant powers began to emerge. He was frightened; didn't want his mother to know."

Every paranormal present- even Phaser- stood up and turned to look at the speaker.

Expert-X's mouth curled into a grim smile.

"You're Cracker, aren't you?"

* * *

"Lt. Clark will do fine," the police detective gave a tired smile as he stepped forward into their midst.

"So how much of all that did you eavesdrop on, lieutenant?" X asked, his arms crossed.

"Eavesdrop? Now let's hold on here," Clark said, as he raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I'm simply here tracking known members of the Veil of Darkness. I don't believe in breaking laws towards that end."

"Rumor has it that you do tend to bend them a bit, though," Persona commented.

Tim gave her a pained smile. "Ah, rumors. You can't always believe them, young lady."

"I wasn't complaining," Persona said. "Unlike others, you bend them on our side."

"Cracked another secret ID, huh?" Expert-X asked rhetorically, gesturing to Henry's body. "When you'd do that?"

"I'd be working on it for a while. Actually made the positive ID the same day you all left. I gave the info to my superiors, but I guess they decided to sit on it and not release it to the press until they knew whether or not he was coming back."

"Was that why he left?" asked Freedom Flyer.

"What?"

"I mean," Flyer said, her deep blue eyes seeming to focus inward. "I wonder if Hank knew somehow that you had learned who he really was, lieutenant, and that was why he came onboard with the rest of us. Maybe he was too afraid to face his mother when she learned that he was a paranormal vigilante. He seemed kind of inexperienced to me."

"All of us were inexperienced for what we saw out there," Brick grunted. "All of us."

"_Guilt!"_ Phaser suddenly began shouted. _"Anger!" _

He began to repeat those two words over and over, his voice growing louder with each repetition.

"We've got to shut him up!" yelled X. "Persona, put him back out!"

"_Guilt!"_ Phaser bellowed. _"Anger!"_

"What about guilt and anger?" Lt. Clark suddenly shouted back at Phaser, not exactly sure why he was doing so. "What about them?"

That blank cowl turned to face Tim, whose blood grew cold.

He was suddenly glad he didn't have to see what Phaser's face might look like under that mask right now.

And then Phaser screamed.

Two words, but two very different words.

"_THEY'RE HERE! THEY'RE HERE!"_

Phaser suddenly clasped his hands, palms together, over his hand, bent his knees and leapt upwards.

It looked exactly like he was jumping off a diving board.

But now Lt. Clark could see right through him.

"_Phaser! No!"_ shouted Freedom Flyer, but it was too late.

The transparent Phaser vanished into the ground.

"Dammit!" yelled X.

"What's going on over there?" one of the FBI men called out.

"We've got to get out of here," said Expert-X. "Now!"

"What about Phaser?" Persona asked. "We can't just leave him-"

"We have no way of tracking him while he's desolid," X snapped. "I guarantee if we stay here, the feds will bring us in for questioning. Phaser won't stay desolid forever; he can't. And once he reappears, you can mind scan for him, but we've got to get going!"

"What did Phaser mean by that?" Brick asked. His skin made crackling and grinding noises as he shifted to glare at Persona. "It cannot mean- you said we destroyed them!"

"We did, Brick. We did," Persona assured her teammate, although she suddenly looked haggard and worn. "Phaser is suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. He-"

"Diagnosis later, doctor. We need to fly- literally."

"You know I can't fly!" Persona exclaimed. "And neither can you, in case you've forgotten. Not to mention Brick."

"Orrad!" X whirled to face the alien. "Can you carry Brick?"

He nodded. "The servo-motors in my armor should supply me with a carrying capacity sufficient to-"

"Great, great. Do it," X said, already turning back to Freedom Flyer. "FF, you take Persona."

"And what about her?" Persona pointed to the Xertan girl, who was now standing by herself, looking very frightened.

"You said she can fly. Pantomime. Use a short telepathic burst if you have to, but get her feet off the ground!"

"That leaves you," said Brick. "Your inwisibility belt?"

"Out of power. It only carried one charge." Expert-X looked around. "I'll slip into the woods and try and lose them. Maybe I can-"

A hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around.

"Yes, lieutenant?"

"Mr. X. Do you smoke, sir?" Clark asked.

"No," the Expert replied, puzzled. Why?"

Tim pointed towards his car. "Get in."

* * *

"Anything at all you can tell me now?" Clark asked Expert-X as he maneuvered his car towards the exit.

X did not answer. He seemed to be staring at the buckle of his seat belt, which he had just put on.

Clark shook his head as the Diplomat headed back towards the expressway.

He wondered when he could get to a pay phone and let Rose know he was going to be more than a little late tonight.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," was all he could think to mutter.

"Did you ever wonder, lieutenant," came the voice of Expert-X beside him, "where bad feelings come from before you get them?"

* * *

_Some miles away, two very bad feelings began to coalesce again._


	4. Brother and Sister

**Issue 2- Brother and Sister**

**Thursday, April 30, 1987**

**Hudson City, New Jersey**

They almost did not come back into Being.

Tiny lights- an observer might have mistaken them for fireflies- flickered on and off underneath the rich, full leaves of the trees that lined Donegal Avenue. The air rippled, as if the sidewalks were giving back the heat of a summer's day, even though

it was a cool and cloudy evening.

The lights and the rippling vanished.

Now a red glow appeared, pale and indistinct. It wavered for a moment, as if it too might vanish, and then it began to pulse like a beating heart.

The glow divided in two. Each light continued to pulse.

Now both lights began to elongate along their vertical axis. Smaller tendrils of light erupted from them.

And now, at last, figures- red humanoid figures- began to form. The glow seemed to recede and fade away inside them as the images flickered into stability.

But not all the way. As it viewed through a video channel clouded with static, the two figures seemed to occasionally distort and fade.

At first, they seemed Xertan. After all, they had spent so much time there.

So much time feeding.

But now, as more recent memories began to return, their skin color shifted; became paler.

For several moments, they were naked, but as more memories trickled in, clothes- or at least the image of clothes- appeared around the two figures.

One was assuming a male gender. It had chosen blue jeans, black leather riding boots, a black T-shirt and black leather jacket over it. Dark sunglasses, seemingly added on a whim, appeared over the man's green eyes. His hair vacillated for a few seconds among color and styles and settled down into a long, straight style and an unassuming brown color.

The other figure, a female, seemed to create its clothing choices a bit faster. They were simple; white sneakers, blue jeans and a green cashmere sweater. The phrase "I LOVE NJ" appeared on the sweater as her blond, just short-of-shoulder- length hair was finishing it's fade into existence. The girl's green eyes were identical to the males. Both man and woman would probably be guessed at about twenty years old.

The two figures, still flickering, looked around them.

The street was quiet. It was near midnight. Opulent mansions with large, well-tended lawns rose as dark shapes on either side. Carefully maintained trees interspaced with streetlights lined the litter-free sidewalks. On one lamppost, a closed-circuit TV camera whirred softly, moving from side to side. The two individuals ignored it, even as it swept past their location.

* * *

"So hungry," the man muttered. His voice was hoarse, as if he had not used it in a long time.

The woman nodded, but did not reply. Her eyes seemed to absorb every detail of the scene around her. She then raised her head and sniffed several times.

"This is it, then?" the man asked. "The world of the humans?"

The woman nodded. "Yes."

Her voice was surprisingly casual. It was light, almost that of a young girl. "We're safe for the moment. That human Elite- Persona- is nowhere around."

"Little good that does," the man grumbled, and then bent over from what seemed to be a stomach ache. His form distorted more. _"We have to feed!"_

"Don't worry, dear brother. We will," the woman responded nonchalantly, although her own form was starting to deform as well. "We will. Life abounds all around us."

"I know that," her brother snarled, "but none of those I can sense are ready and we have not the power left to ripen them!"

"A closer look is what we need," the young woman replied, and then pointed. "Those two. Sense them."

Approaching on the opposite side of the street were two figures; a man and a woman, each about the same age as the siblings. The sister motioned her brother behind a large maple tree. She didn't want the humans to notice their fading, flickering forms.

The young man and woman seemed to be intoxicated; the female especially so, as she was leaning into the male and he was forced to occasionally guide her along with his hand around her waist. They were kissing constantly, sometimes stopping to buss and sometimes not, although the latter kisses missed as often as not.

They were too far away for their conversation to be heard by normal ears, but the brother and sister were not interested in their words.

Only their minds.

Swiftly and completely unnoticed, the brother and sister entered and listened.

And then, these two entities, which not long ago had helped to devastate an entire planet, recoiled in fear.

* * *

"They are strong!" the brother muttered, fear evident in his voice as he watched the couple heading away down the sidewalk. "Too strong! What if all humans are so unripe? I sense the hand of our youngest sister in their hearts. We are finished!"

"Calm yourself, dear brother," the woman replied, although there was not the faintest trace of affection in her voice. "They seem powerful only because we are so weak. Were those human Elites so strong? These Earthlings are not as consistent as the Xertans were. Strong today, weak tomorrow."

"There will be no tomorrow for us, you fool!" her brother hissed. For an instant his entire body flickered out, and then returned.

"The male was concerned about his aunt Margaret and her husband," the sister reminded her sibling. "They live nearby. We can get there without further expenditure of energy. Let's pay them a visit, shall we?"

* * *

The brother and sister stood outside the locked gates of the Biloxi mansion.

"They are inside," the young woman said. "Sense."

She took a deep breath and lifted her head. Although her expression was calm, her emerald eyes closed and a deep sigh of satisfaction came from her throat.

Her brother did likewise. A grim smile appeared on his face and he uttered a low rumble of pleasure.

"She has been unfaithful to him," the sister murmured. "She fears to tell him."

The brother nodded. "With good reason. The trappings of wealth she has provided him with have not dulled his possessive and jealous nature."

"They are strained. They argue even now, although not about her infidelity."

For the first time, the young woman smiled.

"Ripe. Ready to be picked."

"Let's go," her brother said.

The two siblings walked directly at the closed wrought-iron gates.

They passed directly through them.

They walled up the long driveway towards the house. Despite the late hour, several lights were on in the mansion and raised voices could be heard from within although they were too far from the street to be heard there.

The siblings walked right up and through the front door as if it did not exist.

About a minute later, the two quarreling voices began to argue even more intensely.

Shouts became interspersed with yells. There was sounds as if items within were being broken.

There was a brief calm, in which only stomping footsteps could be heard.

Then there were screams. They went on and on.

Then there gunshots.

One, two three.

Then there were more screams, but only those of one voice.

And then there was one last shot.


	5. Survivor's Story

**Friday, May 1, 1987**

**The Metropolitan Extra-Terrestrial Enclave**

**Richmond, Virginia**

"You've got to be kidding. You woke me up for this?"

Marie Dumont, the director and co-founder of METE, propped herself up on one elbow in bed while nestling the phone receiver between her neck and shoulder, all the while fumbling for pen and paper on the nightstand beside her bed.

"It's important, Miss Dumont," came the voice of Persona through the phone.

Marie blew several strands of her black hair away from her face and groaned. "Everything's important at two in the morning."

"I'm sorry," Persona apologized for the third time since the Enclave director had picked up the phone. "Most of us should be at METE within the hour. Orrad said he would let us in. We need to use that translating device you have. We have to try and talk to the Xertan girl we're bringing with us. There are questions that need answering, and they're just too important to wait. We'd like to set it up for 5AM, if that's possible."

"Great," Marie groused. "That means I'll have to wake up Dr. Elam as well. That translator is his baby. He's the only one who knows how to run it. Plus I'll warn you now- the damn thing doesn't work half the time."

"Orrad warned us, but he did say he encountered Xertans several times in his career in his world's military. He doesn't really know their language, but he picked up a few words, which he said he inputted into the translator with Dr. Elam's help. He said it just might be enough to give the machine a head start."

Marie blew air through her lips while scribbling notes on the pad. "You realize I'm going to have to notify Howard Esterhaus of this, as well."

"No. You can't."

Marie blinked, her pen frozen in mid-air.

"Excuse me- what was it, Persona? Mr. Esterhaus is the government's official liaison to METE."

"I know that, Miss Dumont, and that's precisely the reason why he can't be present at this meeting."

"He's also the reason METE can exist at all. I'm sorry, but I have no intention of jeopardizing my organization's charter on your say-so."

"Miss Dumont. Please," the voice over the phone pleaded. "We've already dodged the government once tonight. The issues that may be at stake here are potentially so high that we as free agents must be the first once to assemble all the facts together and draw whatever conclusions we can. Call Mr. Esterhaus, but tell him the meeting is scheduled for 9AM. We'll hold another meeting at that time, but by then we should know if we can entrust him with the whole story, part of it, or none at all."

Marie drummed her fingers on her notepad.

"Miss Dumont?"

"I'm here," she said. "This is my offer. I'll give you your 5AM meeting Esterhaus-free. But I and I alone will be the final arbitrator of what information Howard receives. Is that clear?"

There was a short pause.

"I suppose I'll have to accept your terms." Persona sighed.

"You certainly do, if you're going to utilize our resources. We're not Sanctuary, Persona. We're a medical facility, a diplomatic embassy and a research organization; all designed for extraterrestrial visitors and all of it completely above board."

"Understood. We'll see you at METE. And thanks again, Miss Dumont. The Champions owe you one."

"That and a token gets me on the bus," Marie muttered as she hung up the phone, sat up in bed and turned on the nightstand lamp. The fat tiger tabby that had been sharing the bed with Marie squeezed its eyes shut at the sudden light, then blinked several times and meowed with annoyance.

"You and me both," Marie said as she walked to her clothes closet, pulled the sliding door open and began throwing an outfit together on the bed. "If the whole Earth isn't in dire peril, I'm going to be pissed."

* * *

Her mood hadn't improved three hours later.

"They're waiting for you in the research lab," Marie told Expert-X as the two sets of automatic double glass doors slid open to admit The Champions' gadgeteer and undercover specialist. She frowned at the man with X who wore a tan trenchcoat and an appearance of being perpetually disheveled.

"This is my ride, Miss Dumont," explained the Expert. "Lieutenant Clark, NYPD Paranormal Division."

The two shook hands, but Marie was still frowning at Expert-X. "If you're going to allow an officer of the law in there-"

X held up a staying hand. "He won't be attending, Miss Dumont. He'll just wait here if that's all right. I've already promised the others he won't receive any more information that your Mr. Esterhaus will."

Marie eyed the policeman warily. "And that's all right with you, lieutenant? Forgive my skepticism, but I was a cop in DC for eighteen years myself. "

Clark gave the METE director a sheepish grin. "I'm off-duty, Miss Dumont, and more importantly, my jurisdiction here right now is pretty thin. Unless I see evidence that involves or references paranormal criminal activity within the Five Boroughs, I can keep my trap shut for a little while."

Marie didn't seem totally convinced, but after looking at X again, she shrugged. "As you wish." She led her visitors through a door out of the emergency room area that was the point of arrival for METE visitors and down a hallway done in white and grey tile with light blue accents. She stopped at the first door on their left and opened it.

"This it," she told Expert-X and then pointed further down the hall. "The lounge is three doors down, lieutenant. There's coffee if you're brave. It's from last night."

"That'll be fine, Miss Dumont." Tim gave her a little bow. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Before Marie closed the lab door behind them, she and Expert-X could hear Clark's voice coming down the hallway from the lounge.

"You have arcade games! Well, I certainly won't be bored. _Space Invaders_, though? Someone here must have an odd sense of humor, considering your clientele. Hey, it's autographed!"

* * *

The lab was equipped with several research stations and monitoring devices. Against one wall was a computer panel the size of a large bookcase, festooned with dozens of dials, switches and blinking lights. At the end of a retractable cord whose other end vanished into the machine was a microphone set up on a desk that had been pushed to within a few feet of the machine.

At the desk sat the Xertan girl, looking nervous.

Squeezed between the desk and the machine was a middle-aged, balding man with a thick, trucker's-style mustache. He wore a stained lab coat over tan polyester slacks, a white dress shirt and a print tie.

"Dr. Elam, I presume?" Expert-X asked, holding out his hand.

Elam merely gave a curt nod and grunted and then, seemingly on an afterthought, nodded towards another workstation where a desktop computer sat.

"Dr. Ellen Robinson, our computer expert."

Ellen, whose lab coat could not hide her obese frame, turned her attention away from inputting data into the computer to shake the Expert's hand. Unlike her compatriot, Dr. Robinson was smiling. Her green eyes twinkled underneath a mass of very curly auburn hair.

"Glad to meet you, Expert," she said. "I'm a big fan of The Champions. Do forgive Bill. I'd say it's the lack of sleep that's making him grumpy, but he was born that way."

"And I'll die that way, too," Dr. Elam muttered, his eyes still locked on the translator machine's readouts. "You look for consistency in science; you should look for it in scientists, too."

X then turned and nodded at Persona, Brick and Freedom Flyer, who were standing a short distance away.

"You three look worse than I feel."

"Don't be so sure," Persona gave him a tired smile. "You look pretty crappy."

"Lack of sleep does that to you."

"You don't say," muttered Dr. Elam under his breath, but they ignored him.

"Have you able to locate Phaser?" the Expert asked, but Persona merely shook her head.

X looked around the lab and frowned. "Where's Orrad?"

"He's gone to bed," replied Marie Dumont. "Orrad is a very disciplined individual," she added in response to X's questioning look. "He always keeps to a rigid schedule whenever possible. It's a racial trait, I believe. He'll be informed of everything we find out here, don't worry. I'd never keep anything away from my co-founder."

"All right, I think we're about ready," Dr. Elam announced. "Ellen, you can patch through the Xertan linguistics guide now- such as it is."

"Sending it now," Dr. Robinson replied as her fingers flew over her keyboard. A thin screeching noise issued forth from her computer's modem.

"I'm going to calibrate the voice modulator with a Terran language translation first," Elam announced, then plucked the microphone off the desk and held it close to his mouth.

"C'est docteur Elam. Essai, un, deux, trois."

From a speaker grill on the machine a hollow, obviously artificial voice sounded.

"This is Doctor Elam. Testing, one, two, three."

"I didn't know you spoke French, Bill," Marie said.

He shrugged the comment off. "Miss Masso taught me a few words when I was researching the nature of her powers last month."

Ellen raised an eyebrow and flashed her fellow scientist a mischievous smile. "Annulet Masso? Ringlet? _Ooh la la, docteur!"_

"I am surrounded by foul-mouthed children," Dr. Elam sighed to himself in a martyr's tone.

"Je suis entouré par les enfants grossiers," said the machine.

"Oh, shut up!" snarled Elam, and flicked a switch before the machine translated that as well. He then studied a small oscilloscope screen and flicked several more switches with more force than was necessary. "We're ready to try Xertan now," he grumbled. "Here," and with that he slammed the microphone down on the desk, causing the alien girl to start. "Speak into that. Something short."

She just stared at him with uncomprehending eyes.

"I think the whole point of this little exercise is that she doesn't understand English, Doctor," Expert-X offered helpfully.

"You could try French," suggested Dr. Robinson, trying hard to keep from smiling again.

Dr. Elam bit his lip. Trying to cover his embarrassment, he flipped another switch so hard it nearly broke off. "Can you understand me?" He bent down, fixed the microphone onto a stand on the desk and spoke into it, keeping his eyes fixed on the Xertan the whole time.

The sounds which came out of the speaker grill were so unusual that The Champions would have suspected that the machine had malfunctioned had they not heard the language before. Very few of the sounds were those commonly heard in English, or most other Earth languages, for that matter. There were many clicks- Persona was reminded of a documentary she had seen on the Bushmen of the Kalahari- and a great variety of guttural stops. Some of the sounds even sounded birdlike- the cooing of a mourning dove or the harsh cry of a raven.

The Xertan's eyes however, grew wide. The first smile anyone had seen her give was startling, due to the deep orange color of her teeth.

She gaped at the translator's speaker for a moment before grabbing the microphone with both hands and uttering a similar stream of bizarre sounds into it.

"Yes. Yes," the machine intoned. It was clearly able to only translate only words, not emotional states. "This is my language."

"Jackpot," said Expert-X, grabbing a chair and swinging it over to a spot near the Xertan and sitting down on it. Persona, Freedom Flyer and Marie Dumont all did likewise, leaving only Brick, who looked doubtful that any of these chairs could hold his weight and Dr. Elam, who continued to fiddle with the machine.

* * *

"We'll start slow," Persona said to the others before placing a gentle hand on the Xertan's shoulder and smiling at her. "What is your name?"

The young woman's eyes flickered to the machine, as if she hungered to see as well as hear the very sounds of her native tongue. Suddenly however, her expression fell and she moved her hands along the top of the desk, apparently tracing patterns that made sense only to her.

There was no mistaking the very human-looking tears which welled up in her dark eyes, however.

"If asking her name triggers this kind of trauma, we'll still be here when Esterhaus walks in at eleven," Expert-X said, frowning, but Persona cut him off with a sharp gesture.

Eventually, the Xertan spoke again.

"My name is _Syntax Undefined."_

The others all looked at Dr. Elam, but he merely shrugged. "It's not perfect. Some terms just won't translate, especially proper nouns. Didn't think I had to tell you that."

"I should not tell you that," the alien continued. "After the _Syntax Undefined_ ritual, our personal names are hidden forever. Only our family and _Syntax Undefined_ may hear them from then on. Yet I had not the chance to receive my _Syntax Undefined_ name after the ritual before the _Syntax Undefined_ was set off."

"This may be less useful than we hoped," grumbled Brick.

"I think she may be talking about becoming an Elite," Freedom Flyer said, looking thoughtful. "At least, that's the word that Traveler used. He wouldn't give his real name to Pyro when he asked for it, remember? And I don't ever remember hearing about the Great Remover's real name, either."

"But what are these Elites?" asked Marie Dumont.

"As near as I can figure," Expert-X said, "they're the Xertan equivalent of paranormals- superheroes, if you will. They're deliberately created by Xertan technology however, rather than being the accidents or mutations they often are here. The average Xertan is not significantly different from the average human. I got the impression that these Elites ruled Xerta. Traveler didn't say as such directly, but he did state that The Family had taken over many of the Elites, and were using them to attack his people."

"Family?" asked Brick in disbelief. "Who is this Family? Is Mafia? If _Organizatsiya_ is extending their influence to outer space, we are in trouble indeed."

"I'm afraid it's even worse than that," Persona said softly, taking the Xertan's right hand in both of hers. "Please," she asked the alien, who had recovered her composure and had been waiting quietly to be addressed again. "Describe what you saw and heard after the ritual."

The young Xertan began to tremble, but she spoke.

For the next ten minutes, the assembled humans listened.

And their blood began to grow cold.

And some of them trembled as well.

Despite a plethora of _Syntax Undefineds _issuing from the translator's speaker, a picture began to emerge, although admittedly their imagination was being used to fill in the blanks.

The Xertan described rushing out of some kind of combination temple/ laboratory and seeing Xertans all around her acting insane.

Screaming. Running in fear. Mutilating themselves.

She said she saw Elites arriving, but to her horror they attacked the Non-Elites. Not only with their vast personal powers, but with the greatest and most destructive weapons of her people, which they alone had access to.

Her last words before succumbing to tears again were almost too terrible to hear, despite most of the terms being left unintelligible.

A blinding flash of light. An unimaginable roar.

And the city- and its population- dissolving into fire.

* * *

Brick was the first to find his voice.

"Nuclear weapon?" he asked, his gravelly voice hushed.

"Or the equivalent," X murmured. "Dear God."

"Perhaps you should finish this with telepathy," Freedom Flyer suggested to Persona. "Surely she trusts you now."

"There's another reason for not doing so," Persona said, but she did not elaborate. She waited until the Xertan girl had recovered again, and asked her to continue.

She described wondering through the ruins of the city. Of those Xertans who had survived, many attacked her. Some of them turned into indescribable, horrible monsters and attacked her. Only her Elite powers saved her. Eventually, she took to the air, and said she saw other cities on the horizon vanishing in blasts of light as well. She eventually found a friend of hers; a Non-Elite who had still retained his mind. It was this Xertan- a pilot- who said that the girl's cousin was currently in outer space, and that he must be contacted. Perhaps he could find help elsewhere and bring it back to Xerta to fight The Family."

"Again this "Family." Who are they?" asked Marie.

"We'll get to that," Persona said. "You said cousin," she told the girl. Do you mean Traveler? Is he your cousin?"

She nodded. "His father and my mother were of one breed. We found the shuttle. The underground hangar was still intact. There were many _Syntax Undefined_ inside. I had to fight them off, but we made the ship, and he flew us up and away from Xerta. He knew the signal of Traveler's ship. We found it quickly, but I- I began to weep. I could have- should have done more to try and save my people. And he- he began to grow angry at the Elites. He said they had concentrated too much power amongst themselves, and had brought this doom down upon us all…"

The Xertan stopped, emotion overcoming her again.

"I think I may be able to pick up from here," Expert-X said, his voice solemn. "Their shuttle docked and they came onboard. The male Xertan who was with her was furious. Started shouting at Traveler. We couldn't understand it, of course, although there were certain sounds he kept repeating."

"Suddenly he pulled out a weapon," Freedom Flyer continued. "We attacked, but… but we didn't know about Elites and Non-Elites. We had assumed they were all as powerful as Traveler and the Great Remover."

"He was red smear on wall when we finished," Brick finished, somewhat redundantly.

"Traveler started to explain, or at least tried to, about the Family, but then he and the Great Remover got into a fight."

"Orrad told me about that," Miss Dumont said.

"But it was while we were waiting for either or both of them to return that things started turning bad amongst us," Persona said.

Now it was her eyes that were unable to meet any of theirs. It was the surface of the desk they were looking at, but they were seeing something much, much darker.

"Arguments. Recriminations. Accusations." Her voice had sunk down to little more than a whisper. "I don't think I need to remind you three about that, do I? Or you can ask Phaser, if we ever see him again."

Expert-X, Brick and Freedom Flyer all looked extremely uncomfortable. Eventually, the latter managed to find her voice.

"But… but that shouldn't have been unexpected. I mean, we were all under tremendous strain out there! The fate of an entire world, not to mention our own lives, at stake, and there was no one we could turn to for help! We were all alone out there!"

"No!"

Persona abruptly stood up; the sound of her chair's legs scraping across the floor startling everyone. She placed both palms on he table and leaned forward to stare directly into Freedom Flyer's face.

Tracey thought she had never seen Persona look so anguished in her life.

"We weren't alone," Persona said. "That's the problem. We weren't alone at all."

* * *

Marie Dumont stood up as well, although she did it slowly and quietly.

"You're going to tell us about The Family, Persona, or this session ends now."

Persona ran a hand over her hair, and seemed momentarily surprised that it was her real hair as opposed to the wig she ordinarily wore. With a grim smile she sank back down into her chair.

"If you'll recall, things had deteriorated pretty badly by the time the Great Remover returned," she said. "Kampfstern had locked himself in the engine room, and said he was going to blow the ship up to keep the evil from spreading."

"I remember," Expert-X agreed. "I kept trying to convince Phaser to go in there after him, but he was already losing it by then. Meanwhile, Kampfstern kept shouting." His face creased in concentration. "What was that word?"

"Frochen," said Brick.

"The others looked at him, and he shrugged, his shoulders emitting a grinding noise as he did so. "I believe is German slang word for dysfunctional family."

"They're some type of immaterial entities," Persona explained to Marie Dumont. "If I had to guess, I'd say they're composed of psychic energy. Maybe even cosmic. There are several different types, each related to a specific emotion or condition; rage, apathy, fear, greed, regret. These Family, or Frochen, if we use Battlestar's term, can manifest in a quasi-real form, but they can also possess individuals. Either way, they have nearly-limitless powers, which they use to spread these emotions so they can feed on them. They have to. They quickly weaken and die otherwise, like parasites deprived of a host."

There was silence for a moment.

"And how exactly do you know all this?" asked Marie, her eyes narrowing at Persona.

"The Great Remover was chasing me throughout the ship," Persona replied. "He mentioned some of it, when he had me cornered."

"And yet you survived?"

"I was able to use my own mind powers to temporarily shake him free," Persona said. "Or at least in retrospect I thought I had. To be honest, I was just trying to save my own life. It was then that he said we had to get off the ship, and I wasn't about to argue with that course of action," she finished.

"We got as many of us that we could into the shuttle," X continued. "But as soon as we were aboard, the Great Remover tried to remove us all- permanently."

"We manage to slay him," Brick said, "but none of know how to use hyperspace engine. We barely able to figure out how to plot course back to Earth. Expert says trip will take three days using impulse power."

"And then," Freedom Flyer said with a shudder, "Darkshadow tried to kill Phaser."

"But Phaser killed him first," X said. "Last coherent thing he did."

"We had no food or water," said Persona. Her voice was now a low monotone, and she wasn't looking at either of the others. "With the others' permission, I was able to place them all into a temporary psychic coma. Suspended animation of a sort; greatly reduced metabolism. I alone remained conscious those three days. The Expert had managed to jury-rig up an electrolysis device beforehand, and it generated just enough water to keep me alive. I revived the others as we neared Earth, but unfortunately our piloting skills just weren't up to the task, and we crashed."

"I don't understand," mused Marie Dumont. "What does this have to do with-"

Her sudden intake of breath was so sharp that everyone, even Bill Elam and Ellen Robinson, looked over at her.

There was shock on the METE director's face, Persona saw.

Shock and realization.

Marie locked eyes with Persona.

"Where there any of those Frochen on the shuttle when it left Xerta? Possessing the pilot- and her?" she asked, her voice shaking as she pointed to the Xertan girl.

"I am certain of it," Persona replied calmly.

"And then they manifested among you on Traveler's ship. Caused the irrational and psychotic behavior you described."

Miss Dumont's voice was rising rapidly, and now it finished in as close to a shriek as she had ever used in her adult life.

"_And they came with you when you left on the shuttle, didn't they? My God, DID YOU BRING THEM BACK TO EARTH?"_

"Miss Dumont! Please calm yourself, and stop jumping to conclusions!" Persona shot back at Marie, scowling now. "I expect professionalism from someone with your reputation!"

That rebuke did more to calm Marie than any emotional appeal might have done. The director's face flushed as she took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. You're right. The thought of the consequences overwhelmed me for a moment. However," she added, back on the attack now, "I would like an answer to my question, overwrought as it might have been. Did any members of this Family stow away with you on the shuttle, and have they been brought to Earth or not?"

"I am 100% certain that some of these Frochen- I believe two- did indeed come on board the shuttle, hiding within our minds," Persona said. "For various reasons, I am also 99% certain that they died in that three day period when they were unable to feed on us."

"99% is not good enough," Dumont shot back. "Not when so much is at stake. And besides, why couldn't they have fed on you? You were conscious the whole time by your own admission. Even now, they could be controlling all you do and say in an attempt to deceive us."

"I'll address your second point first, and it is a valid one," Persona said.

"I must admit," Brick peered at The Champion's egoist, "I was wondering about that myself."

"First off, I am possessed of psychic defenses which ordinary humans- or Xertans- lack."

Marie was unconvinced. She pointed again to the Xertan girl. "She told us that even Xertan Elites were taken over by these horrors."

"True enough," admitted Persona. "Yet I do not believe that mental defenses such that I possess are, shall we say, standard equipment for a Xertan Elite. The Great Remover's fairly quick fall demonstrate that."

"Or it demonstrates that such defenses are ineffectual against these Frochen," Marie responded, her expression fixed on Persona. "You're not convincing me."

"Miss Dumont, if I were under the thrall of a Family member, would it not be my greatest desire to eliminate this young woman as soon as possible?" Persona said, indicating the Xertan. "Traveler implied that his race had the knowledge to defeat these entities. He merely needed us to put his plan into execution, although regrettably the Great Remover interrupted him before he could explain further."

"And I doubt that was coincidence," X added.

"More importantly," Persona continued, "and the reason I believe there were two- or at least more than one- of these Frochen aboard, is that if one considers that each Frochen is attuned to, and feeds on, one specific emotion, than more than one of them cannot possess one individual at a time. The effect would be contradictory, and no useful emotions would be generated for feeding."

"Why then couldn't just one of them have possessed you?" asked Marie.

"I believe all those present tried, and so none prevailed," the mentalist responded. "I do not believe cooperation, let alone any sense of community, is within the grasp of these entities, so narrowly focused are they are on their own needs. They may not even be truly intelligent, despite their vast powers; merely operating on an instinctual level. Consider how many possessed Xertans were destroyed when one Frochen triggered a holocaust simply to satisfy the single emotional need of his possessor?"

Persona paused.

"I believe they were fighting for my mind," she said slowly. "I remember experiencing wild emotional swings during those three days. Overwhelming guilt, burning anger, a scream-inducing terror. The problem is, I thought these were merely natural reactions to stress, as Flyer indicated. When a human mind is invaded by such forces, it will not remain unscathed even when these forces depart, particularly if the individual in question has been forced to commit horrific acts while so possessed. Again, my mental defenses may have saved me from the worst of it, but I still feel it, Miss Dumont. I suspect that in some form or another, I will feel it every day for the rest of my life."

A silence fell across the lab.

Marie Dumont seemed to grasp something. "Phaser," she said.

"Exactly." Persona nodded. "I believe that Phaser was harboring secrets which may have made him particularly susceptible to these Frochen. Even if they did starve during those three days, Phaser's experiences while he was possessed may have made him mentally unstable. We need to find him. Once we do, I am certain my telepathy can uncover the truth, and begin the treatment process."

There was another long pause, and then Marie Dumont nodded.

"All right then. Here's the story. I'm going to tell Howard Esterhaus everything we've learned here except your 1% suspicion. Nothing else we've learned I think warrants withholding your information. Once you're found your friend and determined the truth, I expect you will in turn inform me," she finished up with another hard glare at Persona.

The paranormal nodded. "I will. Thank you again, Miss Dumont, and please thank Orrad for me. I think we all need to get home and get some sleep. I'll resume mind-scanning for Phaser once I'm refreshed."

"What about her?" Freedom Flyer asked, looking concerned as she pointed at the Xertan.

"If I may," Miss Dumont suggested. "Leave her here for now. We've had great success in acclimatizing aliens to our culture and customs. A crash course, if you will."

"We call it _So You're Stranded On Earth Now_," joked Dr. Robinson.

"Please," said Brick while rubbing the back of his neck. "Do not say, _crash_."

Persona sat down again next to the Xertan and, using the translator, explained what they were going to do.

"If you want to, you can stay with us at the SuperCenter once you leave here," Freedom Flyer said, smiling at the alien.

X rolled his eyes but said nothing.

The young Xertan smiled back for a moment, but then her face fell into lines of misery.

"I never received my _Syntax Undefined_ name," she repeated. "That is the last stage of the ritual that marks our journey into the ranks of what you call the Elite. It defines who we are. He who is now Traveler has always had the wanderlust. He was the Great Remover always murdered those who stood in his way. It was for that reason that he fled Xerta years ago. Without my bestowed name, I am nothing," she finished in a whisper, her dark eyes filling with tears again.

Flyer thought for a moment. "Under these extraordinary circumstances, couldn't you assign your ritual name yourself?" she asked.

Choking back tears, the girl nodded. "They say… there have been tales of it being done. But… but what name can I give myself? I have not distinguished myself in any way. I have done nothing- only flee when my world needed me."

She abruptly wailed, a thoroughly inhuman sound- its closest Earth equivalent would have been the cry of a coyote.

The voice which issued from the machine however, remained cold, impersonal and artificial.

"Let my ritual name be Failure, for that is all I am."

She buried her face in her arms and wept; her tears and sobs sounding all too-human after her alien cry.

The others all crowded around her, murmuring words of support which they knew sounded pitifully inadequate. Even Dr. Elam, they noted, put his hand on the girl's shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze.

Marie Dumont silently motioned for the others to leave.

"We'll keep in touch," Persona whispered to the director on her way out. "When you think she's ready, I'll come back and use my telepathy. I think it's safe now, and we may learn a lot more that way."

Marie nodded. "What she needs now is some food and a good long sleep."

Persona gave her a sad grin. "Xertan Elites do neither, Miss Dumont. They don't even need to breathe. I suspect that, once they become Elite, they don't even age."

Marie Dumont did not look envious at that statement. She merely glanced back at the sobbing girl and looked sad.

"An eternity of regret."

* * *

The others had left. Only Marie and Freedom Flyer remained with the Xertan. The METE director motioned for Flyer to leave with a tilt of her head.

"In just a moment, Miss Dumont," Freedom Flyer said. She flipped a switch that she had seen Bill Elam flip on the translator, then sat down next to the Xertan, ignoring Marie's frown. Tracey put the microphone between them, and then inclined her head so that it was adjacent to hers. She reached out and pulled the thick, ropy strands of black hair away from the alien's ear. She smiled as she saw a seemingly innocuous connection between their two races. The Xertan had what looked like a small diamond implanted in her red lobe. An earring.

"You have even more unique hair than I do," she said, running the strands through her gloved fingers. She waited while the machine translated. The Xertan sniffled and stopped crying, but did not reply. Nor did she make any move to raise her head.

"Our own sufferings pale in comparison to yours, dear child," she told the alien girl while slowly stroking her head. "I'll only say this. We superheroes," she paused, and then substituted, "we Elites," when the machine proved unable to translate that phrase into Xertan, "do have some things in common with you. Like you, many of have true names which are hidden."

She leaned in even closer, so that her next words moved directly from lips to ear.

"My name is Tracey. Tracey Freedman."

Flyer leaned back to her previous position.

"These names can never be revealed to the world at large, even those we help, for the forces of evil would surely strike at our loved ones. But the variety amongst Elites such as us is amazing. Everyone serves in his or her own way, and somehow everyone brings their own unique perspective to the table."

She smiled and knocked on the table with her knuckles.

"None of us are failures, child. Even those who look it, sound it, or even berate themselves for it. None of us are failures because at some point we get up, dry our eyes and try. And we try again and again and again."

Tracey's face grew serious and yet still looked soft.

"Until we succeed or until we die. Either way, that's we Earthlings call a hero. Not necessarily because of what we can do, but of what we choose to try to do."

Slowly, the Xertan raised her face from her pile of hair and looked at Freedom Flyer.

"I know almost nothing about you, girl," Tracey said, standing up now. "Only one thing I can say with certainty, and it is high praise in our society, especially for one who has suffered so much as you have."

The girl tilted her head while brushing her hair out of her eyes. Her eyes showed a very human expression of curiosity.

Freedom Flyer smiled one more time.

"You're a survivor, dear child. You're a survivor."

With a nod to Marie Dumont, Flyer left the lab, slowly closing the door behind her.

* * *

The Xertan stared at the speaker grill on the translator for what seemed like a long time.

Eventually, Miss Dumont walked over and held her hand out.

The alien looked at it for a moment and then took it and allowed Marie to pull her to her feet. The METE director picked up the microphone and spoke into it.

"We have quarters prepared for you. It's going to be all right. We have people here who will help you here."

The Xertan nodded, but seemed distracted. Marie put the microphone down and started to lead the girl towards the door, but the alien suddenly stopped and uttered something in her native tongue while seemingly staring into empty space.

She glanced over at Miss Dumont, seemed to realize, then bent down and snatched the microphone off the table.

"I am… a survivor," the artificial voice came out of the translator.

Marie nodded, looking puzzled. "Yes. That's true. You are."

The Xertan's eyes seemed to shine. Somewhere deep inside, it seemed to the director, she had come to a decision.

Very slowly, the girl from the planet Xerta moved her mouth, tongue and jaws into unfamiliar positions. The result was hard, but not impossible to understand.

"Survivor," she said. "I am Survivor."


	6. Family Meeting

**Issue 4- Family Meeting**

**Friday, May 8, 1987**

**Garden State Parkway Pullover **

**New Jersey**

The brother picked up the arm so that he could check the time on the wristwatch.

A quarter past two in the morning.

He flung the arm away. The severed limb spun through the air, droplets of blood spraying from the point where automatic weapons fire had cut through the shoulder joint that had once attached it to its owner, whose corpse lay about thirty yards away.

It was one of a dozen.

The brother, still flush with feeding, allowed himself a smile as his gaze lingered on the bodies of the Satanic Skulls motorcycle gang. Most were clad in clothes almost identical to his own. In fact, after the massacre the brother had even altered his own leather jacket so that it now sported a flaming, horned skull on the back identical to the ones sported by his victims.

The Frochen sat down on the lone bench that had been provided by the Garden State Transportation Authority. He did not bother with the wooded bluff overlook that it faced, or the marker that listed this site's historical importance. He had no interest in either. He sat down backwards on the bench, with his legs thrust in the space between the bench's seat and back and instead gazed back out at the Parkway, where only occasional cars- perhaps one or two a minute- flashed by with only white headlights to herald their approach and red taillights to signal their departure.

Even without Sensing, the brother could almost imagine the latent anger and unreasoning rage hidden deep within each car's passenger. Each vehicle a potential time bomb with far more explosive power than mere gasoline could ever hope to achieve.

The feeding had been wonderful. He had Sensed everyone going north up the Parkway, on the side where this pull off was located. When he had located the swarm of bikers heading this way, he knew he had found his meal.

It was almost no effort at all, even from half a mile away, to mentally convince the chapter leader, who had gone by the name "Tec" that he needed to pull in to use the Porta-potties here. Then the Frochen had gone inside the Number 2 biker "Axe," a seething man whose former girl now resided on Tec's arm after a "personal failure" on Axe's part.

The fact that all the Skulls carried pistols made it almost too easy.

The kicker was, of course, switching the positions of Tec and the girl in Axe's eyes before he pulled the trigger.

Her body had not yet hit the asphalt when Tec pulled out his namesake automatic weapon and blazed away at Axe, severing his gun arm as well as marking a trail of red bullet holes across the burly man's chest. Other Skulls had started to pull their handguns as well, but Tec, already pumped with some ice and wire he had sampled from the gang's current stash of illegal methamphetamines, turned on them as well, and had taken quite a few of them out before he was taken down.

Not all the Skulls had died. Several of them had fled on their bikes. Although he could have easily destroyed them, the brother hadn't bothered. They had never seen him, and couldn't have done anything if they had. They were full only of terror and madness now; useless to him.

A discarded newspaper- the Hudson City Daily Star-Gazette- lay on the bench next to the brother. He picked it up and idly began to read, still savoring the remnants of fury. An article in the front section caught his eye.

**NEW YORK CITY TO BE HOST TO TWO HERO GROUPS**

And underneath the headline…

**CHAMPIONS TO REORGANIZE; RIVAL GROUP TO BE FORMED BY JERSEY INVESTOR**

The Frochen's eyes narrowed as he read on.

* * *

New York- A spokesman for the Champions confirmed that the hero team would be undergoing a "restructuring," less than two years after its inception. The reorganization is to involve not only still-unrevealed roster changes, but a re-writing of the team's constitution and policies.

The announcement was made yesterday at the SuperCenter on Lexington Avenue in Manhattan. Special BOSS Arbiter Howard Wiley stated that the reorganization is being done in full cooperation with the Bureau.

"The citizens of New York have no cause for concern," Wiley announced. "These changes will merely make the Champions a more streamlined, efficient and accountable superteam. I think we can all agree that this city deserves no less."

Little more information was released yesterday, but the Champions spokesman promised details would be released to the public as soon as they have been finalized.

The Champions have not appeared in public together since their return to Earth on April 30th from a mission in outer space, the details of which have been labeled Restricted by the United States Government pending a full review. It was rumored that Champions member Phaser had fled from the others on the night of their return. While Persona of the group insisted that Phaser is well and recuperating at an undisclosed location, she did admit that it is "extremely unlikely" that he will return to his former position as Team Leader. _SuperHype _magazine has claimed that the group will be searching for a new leader. Neither The Champions or BOSS would comment on this claim.

"Hello, dear brother."

With a sigh, the Frochen turned around.

* * *

His sister was standing perhaps fifteen feet away, looking as she had done when they had parted company one week previously, except that her green sweater now bore the inscription "I CANADA."

She looked at the bodies scattered around the rest stop and raised an eyebrow at her sibling.

"Hungry tonight?"

"Not anymore," he smirked, before returning to her newspaper. "So where have you been?"

The sister laughed and twirled around, her arms held high like a ballerina. Her brother watched out of one eye with detached amusement.

"I, dear brother, have just fed upon my very first human Elite!"

"Superhero."

"Whatever,"she said, dismissing the correction with a wave of her hand. She skipped over and plopped herself down next to her fellow Frochen on the bench. Her brother affected an attitude of annoyance, which she ignored.

"It was amazing!" The sister began with the exuberance of a teenage girl gossiping with friends. "Shortly after we parted, I was viewing one of their television programs; one specifically concerned with paranormal affairs, and the main guest was a human Elite called Justiciar. He's from a region further north," she added, pointed to her sweater. "Did you know this planet's government is completely fragmented?" she asked, her green eyes wide with wonder and glee. "That's going to make things _so_ much easier for us, don't you think?"

The brother gave a noncommittal grunt, and she continued.

"He actually confessed his weakness in front of anyone!" the Frochen said in a hushed voice, as if she could not believe her own ears. "I didn't have to do a thing! This Justiciar said he'd accidently wounded an innocent human being with his powers at the start of his crimefighting career, and he now felt driven to hunt down paranormal criminals as a means of trying to assuage his own guilt!" She slapped her knee. "Talk about a banquet dropping in one's lap!"

Her brother smiled but did not interrupt.

"So I went to this Canada, found and Sensed Justiciar until I got what I needed and then stalked him until he went out on patrol. I saw this young man on the street going to mail a letter; about the same age as the man Justiciar had hurt once. I paralyzed him and turned him invisible, and then changed my form to an Elite named Titanothere. A big, brutish sort. He's a long-time enemy of this Justiciar. Well, once the poor dupe saw me, all I had to do was roar out some challenges, rip the mailbox out of the ground and act like I was going to throw it at the other humans on the street, who were all screaming and running in panic now. Well, doesn't my future meal let me have it full power with his energy blast! Naturally it passed right through me and of course, I had positioned myself _just so_ in front of my paralyzed and invisible bait!"

She giggled.

"Well, I go invisible myself and dispel my effects on the human. Justiciar sees it and…"

She closed her eyes in rapturous recollection.

"The Elite sees what he's done and cracks like an eggshell. He flees in a panic, but there were plenty of witnesses who were willing to tell the police what he did."

The sister smiled again. "I must have been fifteen or twenty of them myself, in different guises."

"Anyway," her brother gestured her to continue.

"Ah, yes. Now for the finish. I wait until my big, strong hero, Mr. Protector Of The Innocent, is alone in his apartment, blinds drawn and huddled under the covers on his bed, crying like a baby and desperately thinking what he's going to do. Now I phone the police- I think they're called Mounties up there for some reason- and tell him that Justiciar's Secret ID is one Lyell Saunders and give them his address. Well, when he hears the police hammering on his front door-"

Her expression became positively dreamy.

"They found him hanging from a ceiling lamp fixture."

The Frochen's green eyes actually glowed.

"I'm surprised they were able to make their way through all the guilt soaking through that apartment. Thick as it was, even a human should have been able to sense it- before I devoured it all, that is."

Her eyes darted over to her brother. The sister's face with alive with a fierce delight.

"Well? What do you think?"

The male Frochen shrugged.

"Too much effort for only one victim." He indicated the corpses around them and related his own hunting story. "Why take risks dealing with paranormals when we have a whole planet of tasty human minds for the taking?" he asked when he had finished. "Quantity over quality, I say. A better return for your energies spent."

Her sister snorted as she stood up and began walking away from him.

"Unimaginative as always. It's the extra effort that makes the meal, brother dear! The planning, the hunt, the execution, even the element of risk; they all combine to sweeten the pot."

"You're fooling yourself," he called after her. "There is no risk. Now that we have regained our strength, no one can threaten us. No one can destroy us."

She stopped and turned back to face her brother.

"I heard that refrain from our many brothers and sisters. Back on Xerta."

The brother hesitated for a moment and then tried out a casual shrug. "That was different. There were many of us that came to that world at once, not merely two. Even then, it was several years before our population growth was such that we were discovered."

"Yes," his sister replied. She was no longer smiling. "And then our Family, instead of making contingency plans, engaged in an orgy of gluttony, devastating the majority of all living Xertans within several days time. Who knows? That world may be dead now- along with all our brethren there, for lack of hosts. So much for our vaunted invulnerability. Did I not warn you that all the Family should have learned the skill of interstellar navigation? Earth is only sixty light-years or so from Xerta; well within our own personal range. If we had prepared ourselves properly, we all could have travelled here en mass from Xerta directly and saved ourselves that risky spaceship journey."

"Do not blame only our brothers and sisters," said the male Frochen. "You forget about our Father."

There was a short silence as the two Family members regarded each other. Eventually the sister sighed, looking reflective.

"Yes," she mused. "Great Father Chaos. Certainly, once He begins to manifest within the mortal shells of a world, its days are numbered."

"True," her brother grunted, "but if it is to be only we two that will repopulate this Earth with our kind, it will be some time before Father will appear."

"I'm not so sure," she replied, her expression still distant. "I had heard rumors, even in the first few months of our arrival on Xerta that He had already manifested within a lowly Xertan laborer."

The sister's smile returned, but it was cold and cruel now.

"How incredible it must have seemed to that poor fool. Unable to comprehend just what dwelt within him. Why, he may even have been delighted at first. Endowed with powers far beyond even the Elites he must have envied so."

She walked back and sat down again beside her brother.

"Of course," she finished, her eyes glowing emerald again, "his joy would not have lasted long. Ah, to be there when a mind is shattered by the Father Himself…"

Her voice trailed off. She looked over at her brother for a reaction.

He had resumed reading his paper.

The sister rolled her eyes. "Idiot," she muttered, crossing her arms and staring off at the Parkway.

Eventually, she glanced back over at her sibling.

"You done with that yet?"

"Here." The brother took the main section and handed it to her without looking up.

They both read for a while. A car pulled in and its lone occupant- an elderly man- slowly got out and headed into the portable toilet. Both Frochen Sensed, but his mind was unexceptional and both entities were still sated, so they paid him no further heed.

To him, these cosmic beings of unimaginable evil were simply a young couple sitting together on a bench reading a newspaper.

* * *

"Listen to this," the sister said as the old man's car pulled back out onto the exit ramp and sped off.

She began to read the article on The Champions that he had already read. He tuned her voice out while thumbing through the paper's local section.

"These humans have an unbelievable affinity for generating aggression. They even do it in their sporting events," he said after she had finished and paused for a reaction. "There's even one in which the express purpose is for one male human to beat another male human to a pulp. I've got to attend one of these events. I think it's called boxing."

His brow furrowed in concentration as he turned to the sports section. "Or maybe that's hockey. I forget."

"Have you forgotten her as well?" his sister snapped, her expression now devoid of any mirth as she shoved her section of the Star-Gazette at him.

A picture of the Xertan girl, her eyes wide with some unreadable expression, stared back at him.

"The Xertan female who calls herself _Survivor_ leaves the Metropolitan Extra-Terrestrial Enclave this week after an intense orientation session," the sister read from the caption underneath the photo. "METE director Marie Dumont would not disclose the alien's destination, but only said arrangements had been made. The girl herself, whose English is poor but improving, would not speak to reporters."

Her brother snorted. "So? She's no threat to us."

"But her cousin may be."

"Traveler? You think he's still alive?"

"I have no doubt of it," she replied. "The Great Remover wasn't powerful enough to destroy him."

"But then why hasn't he made himself known?" asked the brother. "As an Elite with his skill set, he'd be more than capable of flying here directly."

"That is the question," said his sister, drumming her fingers on the bench seat. "He might have returned to Xerta, but I don't think so. He needed the human Elites for his plan to save his world. That hope lost, my hunch is that he's already back here on Earth, but lying low."

"You'll think he'll seek out his cousin?"

"Very likely. If Traveler does indeed know a way of evoking our Least Sister, he'd be sure to involve her in it."

The male Frochen closed his eyes and concentrated, throwing his mind outward. Further and further.

"Nothing," he said in disgust, opening his eyes and shaking his head. "There are too many intervening minds. And with this Persona paranormal knowing at least something about us, she'll be sure to put them all on their guard."

His sister smiled. "Indeed. That is why I think it is wisest if we strike from an unexpected direction."

"Which is what?"

"From here," she replied, folding the paper over to show him a different photograph. This one was of a human male. He looked to be perhaps sixty in Earth years, overweight, with thin hair combed over a balding head and a cigar in his hand.

"Hint Becomes Reality," the sister said, and her brother realized that she was now quoting from the second half of the article he had started to read on the New York hero groups.

"Franklin Barber, the millionaire investor from New Jersey, made official today what he had only hinted at last night on TV. Mr. Barber's lawyer, James Stack, announced that the venture capitalist, who is long known to have an avaricious interest in the superhero scene, would be sponsoring the creation and maintenance of a new team of paranormal crimefighters to be based in the Big Apple. Stack said that a new headquarters for this as yet non-existent team is already under construction in Manhattan's Greenwich Village."

The sister cleared her throat and continued. "Speculation had run rampant last night after Mr. Barber appeared as a guest on NBC's _These Are The Times_- that's the show I was telling you about- and told host Sydney Gossamer that New York needed some fresh hero blood and that the Champions 'just can't do the job anymore.' Barber, who sits on the board of directors of several multi-national corporations such as Armbruster Industries, Henderson Electronics and SimCorp let his attorney do the talking for him at this morning's press conference and fielded no questions. Mr. Stack did say that open tryouts for this new team would be held at Frank Barber's own famous estate, which is carved directly into the cliffs of the Palisades in Northern New Jersey, at a date to be announced shortly. As to whether Barber's personal paranormal bodyguard Doublestar would be joining this new team, there was no word from his employer. Mr. Barber's only comment came when he was asked if prefabricated hero teams, which are notoriously prone to falling apart from internal friction, could succeed at this time. Franklin merely stated, "It's going to be a challenge."

She put down the paper and eyed her brother intently.

"These humans have a saying. _Keep your friends close and your enemies closer._ I think a little reconnaissance is in order here."

"Suit yourself," her brother replied, clearly uninterested. He picked up the main section and read aloud from the short article which accompanied the picture of Survivor.

"When asked about the details of the Champions' recent foray into outer space with the alien Traveler and rumors of nameless alien monsters that might somehow have returned to Earth with them, Dumont declined to comment."

"Nameless alien monsters?" the sister snapped, snatching the paper out of his hand and staring at it. An expression as close to anger as was possible appeared on her face. "That's irony for you," she said, tossing the section away over her shoulder. "That half-grown piece of Xertan trash dares to gives herself the ritual name of _Survivor_- a name which will turn out to have been poorly chosen, I promise you that- and we, scourge of all life in this universe, are _nameless alien monsters!_ Almost makes one want to hold a press conference," she finished, now sporting a sulky expression.

"It's not inaccurate, though," her brother responded with a shrug, his eyes still perusing the local section. "We used Xertan names while on Xerta. Common and inconspicuous. We don't even have that here."

Unable to think of a reply, the female continued to pout in silence.

"Well, looky here." The brother smiled as he slapped a small article in the local section. "We made the news after all, sis!"

"What?" she asked, expecting another inane remark from her male sibling.

"Our first night here. Read," he said, holding it out to her. Somewhat warily, she took the paper and read the four paragraphs nearly buried near the bottom of the page.

**BILOXIS LAID TO REST**

Hudson City- Brian and Margaret Biloxi were remembered yesterday at an outdoor service at Northdale Cemetery.

Speakers concentrated on all the good that the couple, particularly Margaret, had accomplished in their lives. A native of Hudson City, Margaret Biloxi (nee Edwards) had long used her family wealth in philanthropic endeavors. Having attended St. Ignatius Cathedral for over fifty years, she left the church a substantial endowment. The Barton Street Mission, where she had volunteered her time, was also remembered in her will, as was the Salvation Army and other charities.

Friends and family members praised her kindness and gentle nature. Only her nephew Lou Edwards, who had opposed burying Brian alongside his wife, alluded to the couple's horrific end, saying that "Margaret deserved better, both in life and in death."

Brian Biloxi shot his wife to death in the late hours of April 30th, apparently after discovering that Margaret had been unfaithful to him according to police, although this has been vigorously denied by family members. He then took his own life with a single gunshot to his temple. Sergeant Maryann Stuart said the HCPD had completed their investigation of the incident and classified it as a homicide- suicide.

The sister slowly put the paper down and looked over at her brother.

Their eyes met. Both Frochen seemed to be formulating identical ideas, although from telepathy or an even more primal means of communication, no one could have said.

"Homicide," the male uttered, letting the word roll over his tongue like a savory treat.

"Suicide," the female said in the same fashion.

* * *

Simultaneously, they smiled. Then the brother held out his hand to his sibling in his best imitation of a human greeting.

"Homer," he announced. "I am Homer."

"Pleased to meet you, Homer." The young woman giggled as she shook his hand, her eyes flashing green with malevolent glee. "I'm Susan."


	7. The New Champions

**Issue 5- The New Champions**

**Tuesday, May 19, 1987**

**The SuperCenter**

**New York City**

"Can I help you?"

Detective Clark, NYPD, looked askew at the Starguard International security officer who had stepped directly in front of him as soon as the elevator doors had opened.

The guard, who had about four inches of height on Tim, wore the standard SI silver armored uniform and carried an impressive-looking laser pistol on his hip.

The lieutenant gave him an admiring look. "Yes, I'm sure you can, young man. You seem very competent."

The security man did not fall for the faux compliment. His mouth tightened as he glared at Clark.

Tim flashed him his badge. "Paranormal Division."

The guard frowned. "Are you expected, lieutenant? This area is-"

"It's all right," the voice of Expert-X came from somewhere out of sight. "Let him through."

The SI man moved back to sit behind his security desk as X came out of an open office to meet Lt. Clark.

"Sorry to bother you," Clark said as they shook hands.

"Don't worry about it," the Expert replied. "Our elevator is this way. Follow me," he said and began to lead the lieutenant through the open area of the 45th floor of the SuperCenter, which seemed at first glance little different from any other business office.

"Starguard is pretty expensive, I hear," Clark commented as they walked, gesturing at least half a dozen SI men who were striding purposefully through the halls.

"The League of Heroes used to use them," Expert-X replied without turning around. "Marksman is an old friend of Jon Quest. He said they were worth the cost."

"Expecting trouble?" Clark asked as they stopped in front of an armored elevator door.

X jabbed at the call button and looked sharply at him.

"Always," he said.

* * *

One floor up, Persona opened the door of her private office and frowned at the mixed assemblage of normals and paranormals who were gathering in the conference room.

Or more specifically, at one of them.

She then closed the door and looked back at Phaser.

Jack Griffon, aka Phaser, the former leader of the Champions, sat slumped in Persona's thick leather office chair. He leaned over the desk, with his elbows propped up and his head buried in his hands. Although he was in costume, his opaque violet hood lay on the desk like a discarded dish rag.

Next to the hood was a pile of cut-out newspaper articles, all dated from within the last two weeks.

Griffon lifted his head slightly and looked at the newspaper clippings. He seemed to be studying them, although Persona knew that Phaser had already read them and was in fact merely avoiding her steely gaze.

"We don't have a lot of time," she told him.

Phaser finally looked over at her.

If he hadn't looked like he'd been sleeping in dumpsters and under bridges for the past two weeks- as he had been- Jack Griffon would have cut a much more impressive figure. His lean, muscular frame seemed more sallow underneath his costume. His bloodshot eyes looked out from under a mass of brown hair that, despite having been washed earlier that morning for the first time in a week, was still ragged and greasy-looking. His attempt at shaving had left his chin and neck a patchwork of stubble and bare patches, interspersed with pinpricks of dried blood.

"Less than you know," he mumbled.

"One crisis at a time," Persona reminded him. "Jack, if you want X to accept Tachyon, you've got to speak to him."

Phaser shrugged. "I really don't care, Angela. I accept him. When Montage Man was about to kill me, that man saved my life. If he says he'd make a good addition to the Champions, then that's good enough for me."

"I seriously doubt Montage Man would have killed you," Persona responded. "He's never known to have killed anyone and his psychological profile-"

"You weren't there, Persona, so kindly shut the hell up."

Angela Pearson sighed, running her hand through her new black-and-red streaked wig.

"Jack," she said after willing herself to remove any traces of frustration from her voice. "Are you certain you're up to this- returning to active duty? You don't have to-"

"Yes I do, Angela. I most certainly do have to do this."

"Why?" she shot back.

"I can't tell you," was Jack's response, as it had been every time this point had been brought up over the last twenty-four hours.

Persona walked over to him and bent down to look directly into his eyes. He did not flinch.

"Jack," she said softly. "I understand if it's too painful to tell me, but please let me use my telepathy. I promise you I won't look at anything else."

"There's nothing you can look at in here that's safe," he replied, tapping his temple. "Everything is connected." His gaze turned hard. "And you _swore_ you would never use telepathy on a friend without their consent!"

"I did and I won't." Persona stated, straightening back up again. Her voice turned hard, despite herself. "It tears me up to see one of my best friends falling apart and pushing away everybody who might be able to help him. Can you understand that?"

There was a knock on the door. Startled, Jack snatched his hood and yanked it over his head.

"Phaser? Excuse me sir," came the voice of one of their temps. "Expert-X is here, along with a Detective Clark from the police."

"Thank you, Miss Monroe. We'll be right out," Persona called back while Phaser got to his feet.

"What the hell is Cracker doing here?" Jack muttered, but before the two could get to the door it opened and Lieutenant Timothy Clark of the NYPD poked his rumpled-looking face in.

"I'm not intruding, I hope."

"And if you are?" Phaser snapped.

"Then I live with shattered hopes," Clark responded with a smile as he turned to Angela. "Hello, Miss Persona. Good to see you as always."

Persona simply nodded as they shook hands. She was giving the lieutenant a calculating stare, and what her instincts told her made her wary.

"Where's X?" Phaser asked, looking towards the open and empty doorway.

"Between W and Y, or so I learned in first grade," Clark said with an easy shrug. "Actually," he added, seeing Phaser's hands clench into fists, "he's having a chat with your Mr. Tachyon. Mr. Phaser sir, I wonder if I might have a private word with you."

"I'm really not interested in your harassment today, lieutenant."

"Harassment? Now let's hold on here," Clark said, as he raised his hands. "I'm only here on orders from my superior, Captain Halliday. I'm to bring him a report on any personnel changes in the Champions as soon as they occur; even before they're announced to the press."

"That sounds like a BOSS directive." Phaser's voice sounded like little more than a growl. "When did the NYPD become the Bureau's lapdog?"

Lt. Clark smiled, not taking the bait. "We're all on the same side here, Mr. Phaser. Personal differences have to be put aside for the greater good."

"And just who decides what that good is?" Phaser asked hotly, but Persona stepped between them at that point.

"We really have to get out there now, lieutenant. I'm sure Phaser will be able to speak to you after we get this settled."

"Of course." Detective Clark bowed and gestured graciously for the two paranormals to leave the room. He followed, but Persona saw the policeman's eyes travel to the stack of newspaper clippings on the desk, and an expression of confirmation flicker across his weathered face.

* * *

Coffee and doughnuts had been placed on the large wooden conference table, but remained largely untouched. Phaser dropped heavily into a chair and poured himself some coffee as Lt. Clark fished out his small spiral notebook and a pencil and moved off to one side as Persona surveyed the situation.

Although one of the chairs had been specially reinforced for him, Ivan Vassilovich stood against one wall, arms crossed and not speaking to anyone. Under a large, overhanging brow, Brick's yellow eyes moved constantly around the room, not lingering on any one person or gathering for more than a few moments.

At one end of the oval table stood Expert-X, Freedom Flyer and another paranormal. This man wore a skin-tight costume of white which was criss-crossed in black lines. It somehow managed to avoid the appearance of a spider web due to the fractal, irregular nature of the black lines. His boots, cowl and gloves were of a similar design. He was engaged in a heated discussion with the Expert that Persona could tell was headed towards an argument, despite Freedom Flyer's best efforts to calm things down, even to the intent of stepping between the two.

There were no other supers present. Persona frowned. She had been expecting more.

Randolph Gleason, the Champions' primary publicity manager and spokesman, was also involved in a three-way conversation with Stanley Hammond, their team lawyer and another man Persona did not recognize. The newcomer was in his late twenties, about 5'10" tall and about 185 lbs. He had brown hair, blue eyes and sported a thick brown mustache. He carried a briefcase and wore a charcoal-grey suit which looked nice, but which Persona guessed was off the rack.

"Gentlemen," she greeted the trio on her approach.

Hammond nodded towards the stranger, who was already holding out his hand to her. "This is a fellow attorney, Roger Thessel."

"Pleased to meet you," Persona gave him a professional smile as they shook hands. She couldn't quite hide the question in her eyes as she glanced back over at Stanley, but Roger caught it.

"I'm from the UNTIL legal department," Thessel said, handing her his business card. Angela looked at it, but it did little to help clear up her confusion.

"This, ah," Gleason cleared his throat. "This concerns the New Centurion."

Persona's heart sank. The New Centurion was a martial artist hero employed by the United Nations Tribunal on International Law who had expressed a keen interest in jumping ship and joining the Champions when Angela had spoken with him several days earlier.

"You are aware that there was a joint PRIMUS-UNTIL publicity exhibition for charity earlier today?" Hammond asked her.

She nodded, frowning. Despite the noble cause behind the event, in Persona's experience such exhibitions always turned into a combination of political posturing, testosterone-based one-upmanship, and self-serving agenda seeking. Despite Randolph's constant pushing, Phaser had always kept such things to a bare minimum, causing Gleason to grumble, "Honor doesn't pay the bills, you know."

"Please don't tell me there was a problem with the New Centurion," Persona pleaded, although she already knew her hope was futile.

Thessel looked uncomfortable. "Unfortunately, I would have to say that there was indeed an incident. The New Centurion, well, he-"

"He got into a fight with the Golden Avenger."

Persona gaped at Gleason, and then turned to Stanley, who was grimacing and running his hand over his mostly bald pate.

"I'm afraid that's true, Persona. The New Centurion is under arrest at this point in time, although I am certain he will make bail, as there were no serious injuries to either party."

"What the hell happened?" she asked.

Gleason snorted. "We're talking about Robert Kaufman here, Persona. Did you ever meet a cape who didn't want to take a swing at the Golden Avenger sixty seconds after meeting him?"

"Be that as it may," Hammond chastised his fellow Champions employee, "taking potshots at America's foremost hero is not the best way to ingratiate yourself with a superteam you're planning to join. Not to mention the general public."

Randolph shook his head in disagreement. "Free publicity is good publicity. Controversy sells."

"Not in this case," Persona said. "We want to go as squeaky-clean as we can with any new members."

"And yet you're considering _Tachyon?"_ Gleason asked in derision, pointing at the paranormal now shaking his fist at Expert-X. "And besides," he continued, now glaring at Persona, "when did Phaser grant you power of attorney?"

"Fine. Ask him yourself." Persona threw up her hands and walked off. Angela Pearson was renowned for her self-control, both as Persona and in her secret ID, but she needed a personal time-out to count to ten and regain her composure. She eyed the doughnuts hungrily, but at the last minute sighed and went for the lone container of low-fat yogurt that she knew Tracey Monroe had put on the table specifically for her.

She was scooping out the last remnants with her plastic spoon when Ivan's unmistakable heavy footfalls, even on the carpeted floor, told her Brick was approaching.

The former Soviet super eyed her with his sardonic, audible grin.

"I take it New Centurion will not be joining us today?"

"Nyet," Persona replied in her best attempt at humor.

Brick sighed, the force of which was enough to rustle the hair on Persona's wig. He looked towards the door which led to the elevator. "I had heard Ringlet might be showing up. She did resign from SAFE, no?"

"Yes," said Persona. "And all the scuttlebutt I heard was that she was moving to the US, but I don't know whether she was planning to join a team here or just go solo. I wasn't able to secure a meeting with her, but I did leave her a message explaining our situation. I hoped…"

Persona sighed herself, letting the statement die along with her hopes.

Raised voices filled the silence.

* * *

"_Leader?"_ shouted Expert-X. He stared incredulously at Tachyon before whirling around to glare at Phaser. "Did you know about this? This loose cannon wants to be our leader? Are you nuts? I wouldn't trust him to lead a pack of lemmings off a cliff!"

"Fortunately for us all, that's not your decision to make," Tachyon replied, his voice suddenly calm and controlled in a deliberate contrast to the Expert's. "I don't know why you're so surprised about this. I know Phaser told everyone that he was relinquishing the post."

"Yes, but I thought- I thought…" Expert-X glanced over to Persona, who shook her head.

"I'm not qualified to lead, X. The obvious alternative is yourself."

The Expert seemed to have lost his voice. His mouth moved for several seconds before he could find words for it.

"No. I'm fine as I am, but I can't be…" he trailed off again.

"I believe the word our monosyllabic friend is searching for is _responsible_," Tachyon said, his own voice smug now. "I am capable of assuming that responsibility, and I am willing. Since no other candidates seem to have showed up, I believe your decision is clear."

"You nearly killed me, you bastard!" X shouted. "You have a non-lethal attack, you moron! I've seen you use it!"

"X," Phaser said. His voice seemed tired and he avoided facing his featureless hood at the Expert. "He'd already tried it on Montage Man, and it was ineffective."

"So that gives him the right to start spraying lethal radiation around like that?" Expert-X yelled. "Those damn tachyons of yours nearly killed me! A little warning would have been nice!"

"I was aiming at Montage Man," Tachyon replied, shrugging. "I had no idea you were about to leap into my line of fire. It's you who should have announced your intentions. In any case," and here Tachyon waved off the Expert's objections as if he were shooing away a fly, "there are other considerations."

"Please," Freedom Flyer pleaded to the room at large. "I think we all need to just sit down and take a deep breath. There is no problem here that we can't-"

"What other considerations?" Expert-X snapped, ignoring FF completely.

Tachyon tilted his head at X. "For starters, you can count on the fingers of one hand all the heroes on Earth capable of traveling faster than light through outer space. I happen to be one of them, and I assure you I'm the only one so blessed who'd even consider joining you."

"And just why would that be so important, Mr. Tachyon?"

Everyone turned to look at the person who had asked the question.

* * *

Tachyon smiled.

"Because, Lieutenant Clark, the lack of just such an individual proved to be disastrous to this team last month and I for one do not believe that particular danger to be over."

"I don't think we should be discussing that particular subject right now," Persona interjected, giving the detective a warning shake of her head.

"Very noble of you," X jeered at Tachyon. "Where were _you_ when Traveler put out the call for help?"

"Out of the country, as a matter of fact," Tachyon replied. "Had I known, I of course would have joined your expedition."

Even without her mutant power of telepathy, Angela Pearson considered herself a good judge of character.

And she was reasonably sure that Tachyon was not telling the truth on this particular point.

"I believe that, as written, your charter dictates that if the Team Leader resigns, he chooses his own successor," Tachyon continued, his tone once again smug as he addressed Expert-X again. "If you're really keen to be group leader without the responsibility that the position entails, I do believe there's a nice, safe, corporate superteam forming tomorrow just over the river there." He finished by jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

The Expert looked over at Phaser.

"I'm tired of this bullshit. Phaser, what's your decision?"

The retiring leader of the Champions sat so still that X was about to repeat his question when he spoke. His voice was hoarse, and hard to catch.

"He's the new leader, X. That's my decision, and I'm asking you- all of you- to accept it."

Persona looked at the others. Brick seemed impassive, but Freedom Flyer seemed to be on the verge of tears, although she said nothing.

Expert-X shook his head and headed towards the elevator. "I think I need to get out of here," he said softly.

"That's probably a good idea, X," Persona said, trying to still her own wildly beating heart. "Take some time and think it over."

"You misunderstand me, Persona," the Expert replied as he stepped into the arriving elevator and turned around to face them as the doors began to close.

"I'm getting out of here because I'm no longer a Champion. I quit."

Persona began to head after him, but one of Brick's thick fingers on her shoulder held her back.

"Let him go, bushka."

She turned around to look at him. Ivan, as far as she knew, could no longer shed tears since his transformation. Brick's eyes were filled instead by what Angela thought was an understanding she never thought think he was capable of.

"We all must find our place. He will still be our friend."

Everyone in the room, even Tachyon, decided not to say anything.

Phaser felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see Lieutenant Clark looking at him.

"May we have that talk now, Mr. Phaser?"

* * *

As Phaser sat down again at Persona's desk, Clark looked over his shoulder to see Persona coming back into the office as well.

"I'm staying, lieutenant. Consider me his personal attorney." She wore a thin smile, but her eyes were hard.

Tim regarded her for a moment and then shrugged, turning back to Jack.

"I see you collect newspaper articles, Mr. Phaser," Clark said.

"It's a recent hobby of mine," the paranormal replied in a dull tone as he opened a desk drawer, swept the clippings into them and then slammed it shut. "My collection is also private, if you don't mind."

"You know, it's a funny thing," Clark replied as he reached into the folds of his tan trenchcoat and pulled out a folded manila envelope. "I've also started my own little collection. Now being a policeman and all that," he explained with a sheepish grin that Persona found not at all genuine, "I guess I'm kind of easy to predict. My clippings all concern crime stories."

He unfolded the envelope, removed a wad of cut-out newspaper clippings and tossed them on the desk.

"Violent crimes in particular. Murder, suicide, things like that."

Phaser's blank hood turned towards Persona. She in turn stared into Detective Clark's brown eyes, which seemed lock in a perpetual squint, as if the cop was always staring into the sun.

"I forgot to thank you Miss Persona, for relating to me the conversation you and Miss Dumont had with the Xertan girl that night."

She felt her throat going dry. "You're welcome," she said, her voice sounding to her own ears as hoarse as Phaser's.

"I was just wondering," Clark shrugged again, "if there had been any kind of an update since then. Any new information come to light that you think might be useful for me to know?"

They stared at each other.

"I can only say one thing with certainty, lieutenant," Angela finally said. "I'm not as sure of my theories as I was that night."

Timothy Clark of the NYPD, Paranormal Division, sighed and placed his newspaper articles back in his manila envelope, which he refolded.

He suddenly seemed much older to Persona, and wondered if she looked the same to him.

Clark glanced back over to Phaser, whose head was facing him.

"Thank you," he said to both paranormals. "I'll leave you alone for now."

They watched as the detective closed the door behind him. Phaser turned towards Persona.

"They're here, Persona. The Frochen. You know they are."

She sighed and ran her hand through her wig. "We don't know that for certain, Jack. We'll keep our eyes and our ears open for now."

"We should tell Tachyon," Phaser muttered.

Persona shook her head, however. "Not yet," she said, her voice clipped. "Not until I know a little bit more about what our new leader is hiding."

She strode to the door, yanked it open and walked out.

* * *

Persona stopped dead and stared at the elevator, whose doors were opening again.

Survivor slowly stepped out and into the conference room, and then stopped. Angela thought she looked rather like a cat walking into unfamiliar territory, although the young woman had been staying upstairs for over a week now.

"I hear," she said hesitantly, looking around at everyone present.

Angela drew in a sharp breath. She hadn't realized the Xertan's hearing was that acute.

Survivor took another faltering step forward. "I want to help," she said. "I want to be a Champion. I know that is- a good thing. I know that is how you help your kind, but I do not know exactly what it means to be a Champion."

Freedom Flyer walked over to Survivor, put her arm around the Xertan's shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze while looking around ruefully at the others.

"Right now, Survivor," she said, "I don't think any of us do."


	8. Assembly

**BOOK 3- THE CHALLENGERS**

**Issue 1- Assembly**

**Friday, May 20, 1987**

**Barber Estate**

**Bergen County, New Jersey**

Looking around at his surroundings, Expert-X had backed into the demon without realizing it.

Both individuals turned around, and X's breath had caught in his throat.

The creature glaring at him had dark red, blood and mud-encrusted, tiny interlocking plates for skin. Its ears were so pointed they actually terminated in tiny horns. Two larger curved horns sprang from the creature's forehead. The irises of its eyes were such a dark red that the vertical pupils were almost indistinguishable even at this extreme close distance. Large bat wings flapped briefly and then refolded themselves flat against the creature's back. A terrible smell, like that of rotten eggs, came from its mouth as it exhaled deliberately and directly into the Expert's face.

The creature raised its right hand, clenched into a fist, in front of Expert-X's face and then turned it around so that the back of its hand faced him.

Three razor-sharp claws, each easily a foot long, suddenly sprang out from behind the creature's knuckles.

_I've seen that before_, X thought. _I guess some people just can't help imitating the classics._

Still, he had to admit their effectiveness. Expert-X suddenly realized how nervous he was.

The creature smiled, displaying a mouth filled with fangs, resheathed its claws, and turned away.

Both X and the demon, along with eight other paranormals, continued down the narrow corridor.

* * *

In one sense, the Expert still couldn't believe he was here. He certainly hadn't planned on checking out Barber's team-to-be when he had stormed out of the SuperCenter yesterday. Indeed, he'd been sure that once his rage cooled, he'd return to the Champions and make the best of a bad situation once they reached him on his miniaturized walkie-talkie and ask him to come back.

But they never called.

X couldn't believe it. After nearly two years together? At first, panic had flooded through him. Certainly Persona, their psychological expert, should have known X was just blowing off steam. He'd done it enough times before. She knew he was an impulsive, moody individual. But he had always made allowances for all their quirks and neuroses. Couldn't they have done the same for him?

Of course, perhaps their new leader, the great and powerful Tachyon, didn't want the Expert on the New Champions at all and had threatened to quit his new post if the others insisted on bringing X back.

The fear had soon given way to rage. If they didn't want him back, screw them! There was indeed a new game in town now, and the Expert figured he might as well take a look at it. If he didn't like what he saw, he could always try going solo.

He couldn't quit entirely, though. Couldn't quit The Game. It was all he had. Expert-X's secret ID was a nonentity. He had no job, no friends, no life at all. He lived off welfare and hardly even left his apartment except to go to the supermarket.

With a shock, X realized he couldn't recall when was the last time he'd heard anybody speak his real name.

Expert-X, though. He was no nonentity. He was someone different. Someone special. He'd always known he was. Even as a child, when he'd taken apart the refrigerator and built an air conditioner out of it when Mom had complained they couldn't afford one. Sure, that hadn't worked out too well, but it was typical of how his mind worked. Ironically, Expert-X wasn't an expert on anything, but he knew a little bit about everything. It was very hard for him to build something from scratch, but he could strip down and rearrange any electronic device to perform a related function.

As soon as he'd left NYU with his engineering degree, he knew what he wanted to do. He had no real interest in fighting crime, but superheroes displayed an almost legendary tolerance for each other's eccentricities, because they needed each other. As a member of a superteam, X would be given the materials and the leeway to tinker and jury-rig to his heart's content.

And so he had joined the Champions when they had formed, and until now it had worked out beautifully. Somehow, he discovered he had a knack for investigative work and deductive reasoning, and utilized them frequently on numerous missions. He'd even begun to think of himself as a maybe-sorta-kinda "hero," which included genuine respect for his fellow Champions.

But apparently, even super-tolerance had its limits.

X tried to forget all that now. Even as guilt and anger clung to him like an odor he could not wash off, he stayed with the other supers as they emerged from the corridor and into an underground chamber.

* * *

It was huge; perhaps two hundred feet in length, fifty feet in width and at least twice that in height. The walls, floor and ceiling were still the same solid stone that the entire Barber estate had been carved out of. Fluorescent lighting panels set into the walls created adequate, if somewhat dim illumination.

A section of one wall perhaps one hundred and twenty feet in length had been replaced by what seemed to be a dark, opaque glass up to a height of about thirty feet. Another thirty feet above that was what looked like a luxury press box at a stadium. It was brightly lit from within, and X could make out Franklin Barber standing there, puffing on a cigar and peering at the assembled supers from behind the transparent glass. Another man stood by him, cradling several files in his arms.

The third person wore a costume that was all orange, except for the red and yellow circles on his chest, his red right boot and glove and his yellow left boot and glove.

Doublestar. Flying energy projector. Power level undetermined, as far as X knew.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," the file-carrying man announced, his voice amplified and transmitted through unseen speakers. "I am James Stack. Mr. Barber would like to thank each and every one of you for coming. We'll get started shortly. If everyone will please take an information packet from the desk by the opposite wall there. There's a questionnaire inside. Please fill it out as accurately as possible."

Looking over to where the desk sat, Expert-X had to suppress a grin. While the Champions had a few security guards from Starguard on hand, they were there more to protect innocents from any supervillains who might decide to show up.

Franklin Barber, on the other hand, was probably more concerned about danger from the heroes themselves.

* * *

A squad of five personnel, all clad in Light SimCorp Battle Armor, were spaced around the chamber, including one by the desk who was handing out the packets. A knockoff of DanCo's popular Turtle Armor, you couldn't really see the person inside SimCorp Battle Armor, as it was constructed of metallic, interconnected "tubes" which encompassed each limb- lower leg, upper leg, torso, etc, with a somewhat conical helmet that appeared featureless. Only at close range could the polarized lenses for the wearer's eyes be seen. The overall effect was almost comical, yet the protection it offered was almost the best one could buy without getting into the unique designs some heroes sported.

Another squad had been stationed topside, at the squat and unassuming depot where the heroes had walked, drove or flown to for this meeting. It hadn't been hard to find, even for those individuals unfamiliar with northern New Jersey. A full squad of PRIMUS Assault agents stood just outside the property line, along with cops of local, state and county jurisdictions. Telephoto lens whirred, flashbulbs popped and X was sure remote computer files were being accessed as quickly as possible to snatch any vigilante or even villain who might be planning to infiltrate this event. There was also a mob of press, which thankfully was being kept at bay. Barber had decided against allowing them at this initial assembly, which the Expert thought was a wise move.

He'd heard rumors of how lavish Barber's underground estate was, yet he had thus far seen nothing but carved out stone passages, freight elevators and some cargo holds on their way here.

Then the truth had hit him, and Expert-X didn't know whether to laugh at the irony or sulk at the insult. He and the others, superpowered agents of justice and idols of millions, had been forced to take the service entrance.

Barber may have wanted to create a superteam that would save the world, but he didn't want them getting mud and dirt all over his expensive Persian carpets.

Expert-X sighed, looked again at his fellow employment seekers and wondered if he wouldn't have done the same.

* * *

Some he recognized. The Samurai, for instance, was instantly recognizable in his elaborate and flexible steel alloy armor fashioned in the likeness of the samurai warriors of old. A katana and wakazashi hung at his hip. The Samurai was greatly respected, but had more a reputation as a "street;" a hero who dealt more with common criminals who preyed upon the common man than the high-powered villains who always seemed to have some grandiose and improbable plan of world conquest. He was no vigilante, but he was also a loner, who had refused a request to join the old League of Heroes. X wondered if the Samurai was getting tired of going it alone. The Asian hero had not yet spoken a word to anyone.

Expert-X also recognized Aurolele, an extremely attractive black woman who was probably in her early twenties; she wore a simple dark blue costume and concealed her face with only a black domino mask. A red belt contained a swingline, but she carried no other known foci.

Aurolele was even harder to figure out than the Samurai. She was also a loner, but very definitely possessed metahuman abilities. X had not seen her in combat personally, but she possessed a rather wide range of powers if all the stories he'd heard about her were true. Still, she was also known as a street, although not perhaps to the degree that Samurai was. In fact, there were some heroes- Brick among them- who had accused her of being a coward; of racking up easy victories against street scum while avoiding more powerful villains who should be her more natural opponents. The fact that both her costume and her demeanor bore a passing resemblance to the Nightwraith, the legendary vigilante of the 1960's who had disappeared and been presumed dead two decades ago, also caused some to accuse her of trying to cash in on his reputation. She'd nodded and spoken a few words of greetings at the other heroes, X among them, but she was clearly standing apart. At least for now.

The Expert did not recognize the figure clad all in black except for the large spider design on his chest which seemed to wrap its eight legs around the man's body. He'd heard him introduce himself as "Black Spider" to Aurolele, but he'd said little else. That seemed a rather odd name to X, as the spider on his costume was red, not black.

_Another take on a classic?_ X couldn't help but smile at himself. _Most people here seem more rooted in the past than the present._

Expert-X likewise did not recognize the figure who introduced himself as "Skyrocket" to X when they had assembled topside. The man wore a red costume with black trunks, boots and gloves and a black cloak/hood combination with a bright yellow lining.

Skyrocket at least seemed amiable and willing to talk. He was a rookie at this, he'd told the Expert. New to his powers (_mutant_, X thought), he'd been trying to screw up the courage to burst onto the hero scene when he'd seen Barber on _These Are The Times_ and decided if that wasn't a sign, nothing was. He'd been impressed- even awed- by the fact that the famed Expert-X was considering joining this new superteam, and fervently hoped he'd make the cut. X found Skyrocket somewhere between refreshingly honest and slightly creepy, like a hero worshipper turned hero himself.

The handsome blonde and blue-eyed man in his mid-twenties had readily introduced himself to X as "John White," but had deferred on revealing his "superhero" name, saying only in a mysterious fashion, "You'll see. I'd rather not prejudice you beforehand."

Mr. White wore a red tunic with an armored breastplate and shoulder guards, red trousers and black jackboots. He wore no mask and claimed he neither had nor needed a secret ID. While he carried a large handgun and eight grenades, White claimed the weapon was a mercy pistol which fired only non-lethal attacks, and the grenades were tanglefeet, pressurized nets which exploded outward. This attitude of restraint had heartened X, especially when set against individuals such as the unnamed demon who had just picked up the manila envelope containing his information packet, sneered at it and ripped it to shreds with his extendable claws.

_If he's in, I'm out,_ Expert-X promised himself.

The American Indian was another puzzle. He really didn't look like he belonged there.

The man, who had introduced himself as Bill Redfeather, wore no mask. In his late fifties at a guess, he had a wide face and a broad nose. He went bare-chested, although he wore at least three different necklaces. Lines of white paint ran down both cheeks, upper arms and forearms. He wore a kirtle that had attached tortoise shells that clattered whenever the man moved. Not exactly a stealth expert, the Expert thought.

Redfeather- the Expert figured him from one of the southwestern tribes- carried a six-foot wooden staff which was festooned with eagle feathers. It was clear that, although Mr. Redfeather was obviously a very polite man, everything his dark eyes lighted on seemed to make him frown and shake his head.

Ringlet, aka Annulet Masso, was without a doubt the most famous of the heroes present. X had no idea why she'd chosen to show up here instead of joining up with the New Champions, who'd have given their collective eyeteeth to have her aboard.

Ringlet was from France, and was that nation's contribution to SAFE; the Society to Achieve a Free Europe. SAFE was _the_ premier European superteam and was widely recognized around the globe as a powerhouse, both physically and in the politics of the paranormal world.

Annulet herself hardly seemed like a powerhouse. The Expert doubted she was over 5'3" tall, and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. She wore a sky-blue torso costume and was very pretty in the classical French fashion, but her most noticeable feature by far were the black rings of an unknown material that constantly circled-but never touched- her arms, legs, torso and head, moving up and down in rhythmic patterns, even passing through themselves without effort. These rings, which Ringlet said were the result of a transformation that had been forced- her word- upon her by an unknown extraterrestrial agency, had granted her control over gravity to such a degree that she'd even been able to hold her own against villain teams such as Eurostar, which according to the most recent issue of _Villainy Unbound _still retained their standing as the most powerful collection of villains in the world.

Ringlet was talking to yet another hero X did not recognize. This one wore a costume with grass green leggings and arm sleeves, black gloves and low boots and a black cowl. From what little of his face was visible, the Expert could only guess Caucasian and maybe late twenties to early thirties. The torso of the man's costume was a navy blue.

And there was a tree on it.

The demon had laughed derisively on seeing the design. "Ah, a tree hugger! And what do _you_ do?" he'd sneered at the man. "Fling acorns?"

The man had simply stared back and replied, "We're closer than you think we are."

The demon had snorted- an actual snort, with actual black smoke coming from his nostrils- and turned away, but the man's eyes had rarely left him after that. Even now, deep in conversation with Annulet, they sometimes sought out the clawed creature.

Inching incrementally closer, Expert-X heard Ringlet address the tree-wearer as "Enigmus."

Somewhere in his subconscious, he knew he'd heard that name before.

X felt a hand tap him on the shoulder. He turned around to look into the eyes of the last of his fellow recruits.

And the man's left eye made the Expert feel exactly as he had when he'd gone face-to-face with the demon.

It looked like a cats-eye marble, except the surface was silver, not clear. It bulged outward in a very Marty Feldman kind of way. The vertical pupil seemed to slice through X with its gaze in a way he was immediately sure he would never get used to.

And yet the man's right eye peering at him through the man's black and white hood was a deep but very human blue. The costume he wore was full of black and white reversed patterns. His smile was also normal, and seemed genuine to the Expert.

"I'm a bit nervous," the man admitted to X, in whose brain something clicked.

"You're Harlequin, aren't you?" he asked as the two shook hands.

"Guilty as charged," he said. The Expert had the feeing he was cocking an eyebrow underneath his hood. "I'm still relatively new at this," Harlequin continued. "Have I made PRIMUS' list of subversive heroes already?"

X shook his head, and Harlequin snapped in fingers in disappointment.

"Darn."

The Expert laughed; his first genuine laugh of the day. "The day's still young. Although I daresay you'll need to get in line behind Sulfur Breath there," he said, pointing to the figure who was staring upwards now at Barber and the others.

"I think he said his name was Cambion, or Coatl, or something like that," Harlequin said, shrugging. "I decided to skip the formal introductions. Wouldn't want to shake his hand without my force field up, anyway."

"You're pretty powerful for being a street," X commented. "Kind of like Aurolele there," he indicated. "You know her?"

"Not really. Had a few words here and there," Harlequin replied, his expression more serious now. "She's a good person, from what I hear. Uses magic, like I do."

Expert-X raised both eyebrows. "I hadn't heard that. Magic, eh? Forgive my skepticism, but I'm not a believer in real magic. I daresay if you put any so-called magician in front of a mutant scanner, it'd go off with more bells and whistles than a 4th of July parade."

Harlequin's left eye rotated counter-clockwise in its socket, so that the cat's-eye pupil was now horizontal.

"Suit yourself. You're the expert, Expert," Harlequin said and moved off to pick up his information packet.

After a moment, X followed. As he headed towards the desk however, he began to slow down without really understanding why. Then he realized the reason for it.

His senses had noticed something awry before his mind could find an explanation for it.

* * *

Given the consistency of the sedimentary rock that comprised the Palisades geology it was inevitable that dust and tiny pebbles would fall from the ceiling. There was certainly no need for the manpower required to constantly sweep all that up all the time, so there was a very fine residue on he floor here.

Switching to the ultraviolet filter in his sunglasses, X saw the faint imprint of tracks. Tread tracks, as if from a large industrial transport vehicle. They led from the opaque glass wall to the opposite wall, terminating about forty feet to the left of the desk. His built-in compass display indicated that to be the east wall. Expert-X walked over to that spot on the wall and activated his micro-sensors.

A twenty-foot diameter circle in the stone wall was not stone. It was metal, painted to look like stone. And there were massive hinges as well, camouflaged unless one was looking for it.

It was an enormous hidden hatch.

"You need to fill one of these out, sir."

Expert-X turned around. One of the security guards was holding out a manila envelope and a pen to him.

Ignoring it, X gestured towards the hatch. "How thick is that rock?"

The armored figure hesitated a moment before replying. "About forty feet, sir."

"And what's on the other side of it?"

"Nothing, sir. That's the cliff face. Two hundred feet above the Hudson River."

"So what's that hatch for? An emergency evacuation route?"

Again the hesitation. "I'm sorry, sir. That information is restricted." He gestured again with his hand holding the packet. X took it and walked down the wall where he could lean against it and pulled out the materials.

The guard remained in front of the hatch, his helmet still facing X. The Expert sighed and looked at the papers.

One was a standard questionnaire. Although it gave explicit instructions for those wishing to maintain their secret ID to leave the relevant questions blank, Expert-X wondered how completely anyone was going to risk fill these things out. There was a lengthy list of skill sets, with categories for exactly how much one knew about any given subject. There were of course numerous questions about any true metahuman abilities along with a footnote that read "will be tested."

Then he turned to a folder which simply said "Company Charter."

Expert-X began to read through it and as he did so, a frown began to form on his face.

_Holy crap_, he thought to himself. _I wonder if that son-of-a-bitch Tachyon was right about this._

* * *

**CORPORATE CHARTER OF THE CHALLENGERS**

Mission Statement: The hero team henceforth known as _The Challengers_ exists to meet the upcoming and continuous challenges provided by and inherent to the activities of professional crimefighters.

Status: Challengers, Incorporated shall be a non-profit organization, with all income derived from advertising, promotions, rewards and all other monetary remunerations being recycled back into the company treasury and used solely to support the corporation and its employees.

Officers and Managers: The CEO and President of the Board of Directors shall be Franklin M. Barber. The Treasurer and CFO shall be James Stack. The Secretary shall be Paul Hansen. The Field Leader, identity TBD, is to be in charge of the Challengers in the field, and will report directly to Mr. Barber.

Authorization: This charter shall, upon its completion, be ratified by the Bureau Of Superhero Standards and all employees of Challengers, Inc shall obey all instructions, injunctions and rulings as designated by that federal organization's judges and arbiters.

* * *

It was all a lot more formal than the Champions had ever been, although the "New Champions" were evolving along a much more similar line, if what Stanley Hammond had told X yesterday before that ill-fated meeting was true. It was all necessary for legal reasons, Hammond had sighed. There were just too many people out there too willing to sue supers for the slightest slight; real, imagined or fraudulent.

Expert-X handed off his semi-completed questionnaire to a guard, who gave them to another guard who was collecting them all. That guard vanished into an elevator set into the west wall. About thirty seconds later, the guard appeared in the observation box with Franklin Barber and the others and handed the papers to him. He and Mr. Stack gave them a quick-going over, both occasionally looking up and frowning at one or another of the assembled heroes down below.

"All right," Jim Stack announced. "There's a few issues with some of your-"

"Excuse me, Mr. Stack."

* * *

Frank Barber's attorney blinked and addressed the source of the interruption.

"Mr. Redfeather?"

The Native American nodded. "Forgive me please for interrupting. That is not something I usually do, but I must address your employer, Franklin Barber, at this time."

Stack frowned. "Mr. Redfeather, there are-"

"That's all right, Jim." Franklin's voice carried the distinctive raspiness of a long-time heavy smoker. He waved a meaty hand to discourage any objections. "Go ahead, sir."

Redfeather nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Barber."

The man took a step back and spread his arms wide while turning in a circle, his eyes coming to rest briefly on each and everyone present on the floor with him, even the guards. He finished by leaning on his staff and looking back up at the three men standing in the observation box.

"_Pahaana it aw hinstaki," _he intoned."I am here, Mr. Barber, with an urgent request. I ask this of you. Do _not_ form this hero team."

* * *

Every eye present either blinked or went wide, whether it was visible to others to not.

The lone exception spun in its socket nearly full circle, coming to rest with its slit pupil at a diagonal.

"Among my people, the Hopi," Redfeather said, "I am known by another name. The closest equivalent in English would be _Season_. It is as he, a man who seeks balance in our world and harmony for our people, that I ask this boon of you."

Season took a deep breath and continued. "I know your intentions are good, but these superhero teams are merely an extension of your approach to crime as a whole. You would lock up- or worse, kill- those who commit what we call_ kahopi- _a violation of that which the Sun Spirit and Grandmother Spider set into motion. "

"Spare us your mystical garbage," the demon hissed at Redfeather.

"That's funny, coming from you," John White said to Cambion. "By our mythology, you _are_ mystical garbage. Let the man speak!"

The demon's body tensed. His mouth opened and was about to utter a roar of defiance when he noticed that everyone else was either pointing a weapon or an arm which was a weapon at him.

Cambion put on what was probably a demon's best attempt at a disarming smile and relaxed his stance.

Season gave nod of thanks to the others, and returned to his speech.

"Imprisonment does not- it cannot- restore to harmony the one who has committed the violation."

"It keeps them from doing it again, though." This time it was Aurolele who interrupted.

"Restoring balance to their soul would have the same effect, young woman," Redfeather replied. "It is in fact a far better outcome. Now the offender can be welcomed back into his or her family, and society as well. Is this not the ideal solution? Even your government professes to desire it."

"And what about the victims?" Now it was Enigmus who spoke. "What about those whose lives have been shattered by these criminals? Are they supposed to just forget about that?"

"Forget, no," Season said. "Forgive, yes. If one cannot forgive, then one's own soul is not in harmony, and he or she is in need of healing as surely as the original violator."

"You are misguided, my friend," John White said to Redfeather. "Heroes such as ourselves are desperately needed. In these times, more than ever. More and more, villains arise from the dirt to threaten the innocent."

"And this brings more heroes out to fight them, which in turn inspires more villains," responded Season. "Can you not see this dark cycle for what it is?"

"What is it you would have us do, Mr. Redfeather?" asked Frank Barber.

"There are priests among my people- I am one of them- who propose to set up retreats within the Hopi Reservation. Those who can restore balance to those who have fallen victim to greed and rage. We have done this among our own kind since long before you came to this land. Now with the terrible potential of these paranormals poised to inflict destruction on your people and mine alike, we wish to reach out to you. What I ask of you is this. When you catch what you call a "supervillain," rather than take him to your authorities, bring him out to us, where we may heal him or her, and make them a valuable member of your society, rather than one more drain on your resources as a prisoner of Stronghold."

James Stack frowned. "That would make us criminals as well. The villains could charge us as kidnappers. Even if they didn't, we could be charged as accessories to escape, for helping wanted felons avoid arrest and indictment."

"Your laws do not apply within our reservation, Mr. Stack," Season said, but the corporate lawyer shook his head.

"Federal laws do, and most supervillains violate those by the score. I'm sorry, Mr. Redfeather. Your proposal is admirable but unrealistic and more importantly, completely unfeasible."

Season looked from Stack to Barber.

"Jim is quite correct, Mr. Redfeather," the executive said. "I am sorry, but the Challengers will form as planned."

"Then all I ask is that you remember my words. Perhaps, in the long night that is to come, you may yet reconsider them. Peace and longevity be upon you all."

And with that, Bill Redfeather strode out of the chamber, back down the corridor they had come from.

* * *

"It's too bad," John White said into the silence. "I am sure he would have been a worthy addition to our team."

"Not if he's not willing to kill," Enigmus said coldly.

The others looked at him.

"Well, well," Cambion hissed softly. "A surprise, indeed. The tree-hugger seems the only one among you who understands."

Enigmus looked uncomfortable with his new ally. "I understand the laws of the natural world, that's all. Kill or be killed."

"We are not animals, Enigmus," Annulet Masso said softly, her face as she looked at Enigmus filled with sadness and regret.

"Speak for yourself," the demon hissed at Ringlet, his claws shooting out from his head for emphasis rather than threat.

Despite Jim Stack's appeals for order, the paranormals began arguing. Expert-X wasn't surprised that they ignored the lawyer's exhortations to get back on track. In his experience, paranormals were used to getting their way. Used to normals listening to them rather than the other way around.

Enigmus and Cambion were opposed by White, Masso, Aurolele, and Harlequin. Skyrocket and Black Spider were also against killing apparently, but they seemed unwilling, perhaps even afraid, to voice their opinions more stridently. Only Samurai stayed aloof and apart.

X sighed. Was this what heroes really were? His own experiences as a Champion, while filled with many fond memories, could not erase the constant bickering and arguments he'd heard almost every time he'd walked through the door of the SuperCenter. And his experiences visiting other superteams had led him to conclude they were little different.

Suddenly and inexplicably, Expert-X remembered being seven years old again.

* * *

Sitting in the living room early Saturday morning, a bowl of Fruit Loops or Lucky Charms in hand (milk optional), the boy who would one day grow up to become Expert-X waited in jittery anticipation for the cavalcade of cartoons to begin.

Hanna-Barbera was the best, but only certain shows. To be sure, _Scooby Doo, Yogi Bear, Wacky Races_ and _Magilla Gorilla _were all cool, but it was the superhero cartoons that he couldn't get enough of.

_Space Ghost. The Herculoids. The Galaxy Trio_ and all the rest. They were all simple, pure heroes. They never argued amongst themselves. There were no clashing egos, no hidden agendas. They fought evil, pure and simple. White versus Black. Good versus Evil.

And Good always, always won.

Heroes were-

"Excuse me," a voice cut across X's reverie, yanking him back into the present. "What the fuck did you just say?"

* * *

Up above them, Doublestar moved out of sight towards the rear.

John White, the man who had suddenly become the object for everyone's decidedly unfriendly stare, pressed his lips together. He was clearly trying to avoid losing his temper.

"There is no need for profanity here, Enigmus."

"Depends," Enigmus replied. "It depends on whether or not I heard you correctly just now. Repeat what you said."

The Expert frowned. "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening. What did he say?"

"Repeat, please." This came from Ringlet, who totally ignored X to concentrate on Mr. White. X couldn't believe it. Annulet had a reputation for being pretty easy-going, at least as paranormals went. Now though, she seemed to be trying to burn holes through John White with her gaze.

White raised his hands as if he expected his next words to trigger an attack.

"Please listen to what I'm saying, and try not to judge until you've heard all the facts! All I said was that my way offers a path to peace and prosperity for all mankind. It's not a panacea; it's not a magic wand, but it can work! National Socialism is-"

"Yeah," Enigmus cut across him, nodding his head. "That's what I thought you said."

"You listened to the Indian!" John's restraint was starting to crack. "Don't I deserve the same consideration?"

"What's National Socialism?" asked Skyrocket, bewildered.

"My God," Aurolele said, realization starting to dawn on her features. "You're The Aryan, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," replied John White, his arms still raised as if to ward off an imminent attack. "And I am a hero, just like you! I have a proven record! You can't discriminate against me just because of my beliefs!"

"How about because of your race? That's a mainstay of your philosophy, isn't it?" Aurolele shot back.

"But don't you understand?" The Aryan cried. "The strong always rule! We differ only in the prerequisites for the ruling class; race for me, socioeconomics for you! But however it is obtained, rulership is not a privilege- it is a responsibility! The strong must _protect_ the weak, not _enslave_ them!"

"I'm still missing something," Skyrocket said, shaking his head.

"Let me clarify it for you, Skyrocket," said Ringlet. "John White here is a Nazi."

The word hung in the sudden silence.

"Adolph Hitler did not invent National Socialism." White seemed determined to make his point. "He and others perverted it right from the beginning! I beg you to read Dr. Hans Gunther's groundbreaking theories on eugenics! Read Nietzsche! Is it wrong to use one's superiority to help those less powerful? Isn't that what we all do as superheroes? Protect those who are less powerful than ourselves- the normals?"

"You bastard!" Skyrocket yelled at The Aryan. "My dad's brother died in WWII fighting the likes of you! He was killed on D-Day, at Omaha Beach! I grew up not knowing my uncle because of you!"

"Control yourself, young Skyrocket," Harlequin said in a passable Alec Guiness impression. "Such revealing talk is dangerous. I promise you every word we say here is being recorded."

"More importantly," said Doublestar, who had now appeared among them. "The first one to launch an attack winds up in Stronghold. I promise you that."

A thin orange outline surrounded him. His force field was up.

"I will _never_ fight alongside zis man," Ringlet cursed, her extremely faint accent becoming somewhat more pronounced under duress. "Unlike our masked friend here, my true name is public record. Do you know how many relatives _I_ lost in ze war, Monsieur White?"

"Answer me one question, Mr. White," Harlequin said in a calm voice. "Just so we all know where we stand, and no one is acting on preconceived notions. You certainly seem like a reasonable fellow."

"I am one."

"Then here is my question. Do you believe that all humans, regardless of national or ethnic origin, are equal?"

The Aryan hesitated nearly a full minute before replying.

"Well, no," he said. "But-"

Cambion began laughing out loud at this point as the shouts and accusations flew.

* * *

With the chamber filled with arguing and posturing, it was only Expert-X, who had stayed out of the fray because he simply didn't see what was to be gained by joining it, who first heard the new voice from the figure coming down the corridor.

"Hi, guys! Am I too late to join the party?"

From that deep, rich voice, the Expert was reminded instantly of someone he'd known in college. The guy had been a total party animal, a regular John Belushi from _Animal House_. Irresponsible to the core, but a lot of fun to be with. Impossibly cheery, not especially brilliant, and more often than not three sheets to the wind.

This merry voice didn't sound intoxicated, but X had a feeling the brain behind it wouldn't win many IQ contests. He looked at the approaching figure.

Then he looked again.

Then he recognized him.

Then his mouth fell open and both his eyes bugged out like Harlequin's marble orb.

This wasn't a figure from college. It was a figure from much younger days.

Specifically, it was a figure from Saturday mornings.

Mightor strode into the chamber.

* * *

The term "barrel-chested" could apply to Mightor only if you turned the barrel on its side. Muscular to and well beyond a fault, the bare-chested hero's waist was so narrow compared to his incredible shoulders that his torso was dangerously close to being a triangle. He wore only a blue loincloth, held up by a strip of some unknown yellow metal. Bracers of this same metal adorned both wrists. He wore crude leather boots, which looked as if he might have cured and tanned the hide himself.

Mightor's mask and cape were pretty unusual, now that Expert-X could finally see it close-up. It was one irregular piece of fabric, fur from some undefined animal that came over Mightor's forehead like a cap and then continued down to just over his eyes. A curved horn projected out from each temple, but unlike Cambion's these were part of the headgear, and had probably been hollowed out.

In his right hand Mightor held the stone club that X remembered so well, although it was a little larger than the toy replicas the Expert had made in his youth in order to emulate his boyhood idol; perhaps three-and-a-half feet in length. It was a narrow cone in shape, probably no more than six or seven inches in diameter at the top end.

All conversation had died off. Everyone was staring at the new arrival in shock.

Mightor stopped, planted his feet shoulder-width apart (no mean feet), let the club stand on the floor top-side down, and put his hands on his hips.

_He actually put his hands on his hips!_

"Why the long faces, fellow heroes?" he boomed. "Today is a day to rejoice! Today, the forces of weal assemble and make known to the evildoers that their days are numbered! Today, let the villains quail in their boots!"

"Quail in their boots?" repeated a bewildered Doublestar.

"Sure," offered Harlequin. "Quail in their boots and quake in fear."

"I don't believe this," said Skyrocket.

"Mon Dieu," whispered Ringlet.

Aurolele shook her head in resignation.

"I think I'd rather have the Nazi."

* * *

"Let's have some order here!" Jim Stack barked out from above. "Who are you, sir?"

"Who _is_ he?" asked Expert-X, pointing to Mightor but looking up at the lawyer. "I take it you were not a cartoon connoisseur as a young boy, Mr. Stack."

"Actually, no I wasn't," Stack said, frowning. "Am I to understand," he continued, now addressing Mightor directly, "that you are portraying a copyrighted figure?"

"Not quite, good sir," Mightor replied, picking up his club and twirling it over his head. "I _am_ that copyrighted figure. I _am_ Mightor!"

"So let me get this straight," Harlequin said. "A Hollywood animation studio sent an interdimensional expedition to your world decades ago in search of new storylines and found you, is that it? That should also put you in your mid-forties at the earliest, which you don't look. Am I missing anything?"

Now Mightor did look embarrassed.

"Actually," he said, with the smile of a boy frozen in mid-discovery with his hand in the cookie jar, "it's complicated."

"I don't doubt that," offered Ringlet, her initial astonishment giving way to bemusement.

"But you do claim to be the original _Mightor_, is that correct?" persisted James Stack. "And these cartoons from-"

"Hanna-Barbera," X supplied.

"You claim that Hanna-Barbera Productions took your name and likeness and used them without permission?" finished Stack.

"Oh, no," Mightor corrected. "I gave them full permission."

"I don't suppose you have a signed affidavit to that effect on you, do you?" asked Stack.

Again, that guilty grin. "I never was one for paperwork."

Stack turned to his boss. "Mr. Barber, as your lead attorney I can guarantee you this is a legal can of worms you do _not_ want to open! I suggest we send this individual on his way."

"Come on," shouted Mightor. "At least give me a chance! Let me show you what I can do!"

All eyes turned to Franklin M. Barber, who had been puffing away so furiously on his cigar Expert-X thought it might have been his intention to slip away in the concealing smoke cloud.

"Have him fill out a questionnaire," Barber eventually sighed. "I don't want to have to run through this again. Like he says, we'll at least see what he can do."

* * *

Several minutes later, lights came on behind the large, opaque glass window set into the west wall.

A portion of another large chamber, this one lined with metal on all sides rather than stone, came into view. Machinery was built into many sections of the wall. Expert-X recognized sensory and recording apparatus, as well as holographic equipment.

"Danger room," he mused aloud, to no one in particular. The wall which looked like glass was in fact, he realized now, transparent Questonite. Very expensive.

Doublestar smiled now for the first time as he looked over the assembled paranormals. X decided right then and there he did not like that smile. It was far too close to a sneer for his taste.

"All right, boys and girls," Doublestar announced. "Let's see what you've got."

* * *

The danger room was not very sophisticated, as such things went, but Expert-X knew it didn't have to be. This setup was designed for one purpose only- to give a general indicator of the power level and abilities of those running through its program. A true danger room would probably be found in the new Greenwich Village base, when that was completed.

At a signal, holograms instantly created a cityscape around the individual currently running through the gauntlet. The room's offensive weaponry seemed to be limited to a blaster weapon, which was scalable to different intensities. The candidate had to race and/or fly through the illusionary cityscape following Doublestar's instructions, while their every movement and reaction time was recorded and analyzed.

Along the edge of the room/street, holographic figures began to appear; ducking out of doorways and alleyways, emerging from behind parked cars and so forth. Some were civilians, others were police. Still others were street thugs or agents, equipped with Kevlar vests and a helmet. Still others were images of supervillains. A small mobile sensor was hidden within each hologram, which not only analyzed the type and amount of force used against it, but also projected an ambient force that made them solid, at least up to a point. Just as in the cruder simulations cops and FBI agents used in their training programs, the goal was to get the bad guys while not harming any innocents and still maintaining the fastest reaction time possible. Time was important because each villain image would electronically "kill" a civilian if not taken out within a certain time span, and that would be counted heavily against a character's score.

* * *

Cambion, the demon- whoever or whatever the hell he was- was fast, X had to admit as he and the others watched through the Questonite wall. He was agile and tough, deflecting blaster shots with his wings.

Unfortunately, he "killed" every single hologram he encountered; Villain, cop, man, woman and child.

"Can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs!" he'd roared at Doublestar after the latter had screamed at him for the third time to watch where he was sticking his claws.

"I see he likes his omelets red." Ringlet winced, despite herself, as scarlet holographic blood splattered the Questonite in front of their faces again before fading away.

"Remind me not to stop by his place for Sunday brunch," Expert-X added, and Annulet chuckled.

In contrast, the Samurai was almost a joy to behold. He was either almost completely motionless, or else a silver blur as he dashed, spun, whirled, kicked and punched his opponents. Only the supervillains received the blade of his katana. He did not hit a single civilian.

Aurolele performed in a similar fashion, although her approach was even more stealth oriented. It was impossible to tell for sure because of the intervening building images, but X would have sworn Aurolele moved so fast from one side of the simulation chamber to another that she must have teleported. Although she also hurt no "mushrooms," as Doublestar called them, she did miss one villain long enough for her to be penalized with a civilian casualty.

Like Samurai, The Aryan did not possess any true superhuman powers, but he was good. There was no doubt about it, regardless of how abhorrent his political views were. John White also hurt no civilians. He missed only one villain, and threw himself between the bad guy and the mushroom he was targeting. He was penalized several seconds for this, but did avoid any civilian losses. He did get tagged with one energy blast near the end of his run hard enough to send him stumbling for a few moments, but he quickly recovered.

"I can't believe such an apparently moral man holds such revolting views," X said, shaking his head. "I've never met such a pleasant and rational fascist monster in my life."

Ringlet looked up at him.

"If I may invert that old cliché, the means do not justify the ends."

"I suppose not," the Expert agreed. "It's a pity, though."

Enigmus was up next, and soon showed what he was made of.

Animals.

A leopard faster and more deadly than any on Earth pounced at ripped at thugs and agents. An immense grizzly, easily twelve feet tall, smashed cars hard enough to send them flying into villains. A hawk, agile and swift, dodged multiple energy blasts.

Enigmus rapidly switched from one animal form to another. He was faster than anyone so far save Cambion, but his leopard mauled two civilians.

"Guess he's out of the running," Expert-X said.

Ringlet bit her lip but said nothing.

Harlequin actually lacked a direct offensive attack- he had stated so on his questionnaire- but despite that he was phenomenally effective. He was able to create light illusions himself, and so effectively prevented the bad guys from firing on any civilians. He was able to flash opponents, and even caused one villain to fire on another, thinking him a mushroom. His reaction time was only fair, and when he got hit it knocked the wind out of him, but otherwise X thought he did very well.

Despite his enthusiasm, Skyrocket was a bit of a disappointment. He was reasonably fast, and his energy blast- which looked and sounded like immense fireworks- was impressive, but it was soon apparent that Skyrocket was new to his powers. He missed numerous targets, and even flew into the Questonite wall when he failed to complete an aerial turn in time. He came out of the danger room sullen and refusing to speak to anybody.

However, he did a lot better than Black Spider who, when a holographic Ripper came charging at him, shrieked in terror and ran for the exit door.

Ringlet seemed nervous before her trial. This surprised Expert-X, as she was an experienced heroine. He soon realized however that Doublestar, who was aware of this fact, had compensated by increasing the speed of the holographic villains, giving Ringlet less time to react.

It hadn't mattered. Annulet was brilliant. She could create gravity "force walls," which even light sources like blasters could not penetrate. Using micro-control of gravity, she sent any object that wasn't bolted down (and a few that were) hurtling at foes. She was especially adept at picking up one enemy and hurling them into another. She wasn't the fastest one here, but Expert-X was sure she would make the final cut, if Barber had at least one functioning brain cell. Her final performance was flawless.

"Guess it's my turn," he'd grimaced at Annulet as she came of the danger room.

Ringlet, her face bathed in sweat, smiled at him. "You'll do fine, Monsieur X. Raw power is no substitute for experience."

_But it sure makes things easier_, the Expert was thinking to himself one minute later.

* * *

He was running as fast as he could, taking down holo-villains as soon as he detected them with his primary weapons. These were metal studs attached to the palm of each glove which issued a massive bio-electric discharge on impact. Freedom Flyer always called them "joy buzzers."

X's power source- a linked series of micro-generators embedded within his reinforced costume- had been configured to power a temporary force field. This was an adaptation he could do in his sleep, as he always seemed to need just a little more protection.

_20s_ flashed in the retinal display of his sunglasses. That meant twenty seconds of power left for his force field.

"You forgot to turn the settings back down!" he yelled out at the unseen Doublestar as he took down a holographic thug who had been about to cut down an equally unreal old lady.

"Getting old, X?" Doublestar's laughing voice reverberated off numerous hidden speakers.

The Expert let forth a string of profanity as a blaster pulse blew past his side, only missing him because he had violently twisted his torso at the last possible instant. His feet were already in motion, following his latest indicator.

X's array of sensors had noticed a momentary spike in the ambient energy of the room just before a new hologram appeared, so he had reconfigured his display to give him that additional one second warning. Bereft of superhuman reflexes, X figured he needed every chance he could get.

And if Doublestar called that cheating, he'd just shake hands with the man and leave.

After making sure his joy buzzers were fully charged, that is.

_15s_

The image he'd expected suddenly appeared on his right as it emerged from behind a lamppost that was blatantly and unfairly too thin for it to have been concealed behind in reality.

Expert-X turned and lunged at it, but his forward momentum screwed up the angle of his leap, and he missed.

It was a cop.

_I still didn't hit him_, X thought. _Blind luck or not, I'll take it._

A new spike pinged on his display. Distance was about twenty meters. Way too far for comfort.

_10s_

It required a flying tackle against an illusionary Pulsar, which led to a head impact on the ground that his padded cowl only partially protected him from. Trying to ignore his protesting muscles, gasping lungs and ringing head simultaneously, Expert-X painfully used a garbage can for leverage as he lumbered to his feet.

Another spike. Thirty meters away.

_5s_

He saw the situation. A faux VIPER agent had climbed out a manhole cover about a hundred feet away and was aiming his blaster rifle at the cop X had missed, who was still standing there like a complete idiot.

There was absolutely no way the Expert was going to reach the bad guy in time, and he had no ranged weapons.

Or did he?

"CRAP!" yelled X at the top of his lungs as the personal miniaturized computer hidden in the lining of his cowl and acting directly from the Expert's own brainwaves calculated the trajectory and showed him what he needed to do.

_I just hope that recent fall didn't jar any circuits loose_, he thought.

_2s_

With everything he had left, Expert-X grabbed the garbage can and as he began building an electrical charge within it, using his joy buzzers as capacitors, launched himself into one more flying leap.

To anyone who might be observing, it would look like he wasn't leaping at anything, but he was.

He was leaping directly into a trajectory.

The blaster, aimed as it was at the cop, hit Expert-X instead, a split-second before his force field flickered out from lack of power. Caught in mid-air when hit, the Expert's body was hurled backwards, but he had already hurled the electrified garbage can at the agent. The kinetic impact from the force of his throw was negligible, but the discharge was enough to make the image flicker and then fall down.

X could have enjoyed the scene if he hadn't been too busy going unconscious from slamming into a holo-wall which turned out to be one of the danger room's walls and very solid indeed. He never even heard the horn going off that signaled the trial was over.

* * *

"Not bad," Enigmus said as he held out a wet washcloth to X.

"You think fast," Harlequin added. "That's a good quality."

The Expert, currently slumped against an outer chamber wall, wearily nodded thanks and pressed the cloth against his forehead. The back of his skull was hurting even worse, but he'd have to take off his hood in full view of everyone here to get at it.

_Ah, the joys of having a secret ID_, he thought.

Enigmus, Harlequin and Ringlet were standing nearby. Skyrocket and Black Spider were sulking off together in a far corner while the Samurai, Aurolele, The Aryan and Cambion were watching Mightor, the final candidate, run through his turn in the danger room.

"So," X said, hoping that conversation might distract him from the jackhammer that was currently going off in his skull, "when do we find out who made the grade?"

"Not today," Ringlet said. "Doublestar said we would be able to find out tomorrow. There's a phone number listed on our packets we can call."

"Pretty sensible, if you ask me," Harlequin added, covertly glancing over his shoulder at Cambion. "I suspect some us take bad news with a little more grace than others."

"Well," Expert-X said. "if we can-"

"_LOOK OUT!"_

* * *

Back in those wonderful, carefree Saturdays of TV watching, the young boy who would one day be a superhero would also watch any and all sci-fi movies he could. One of his favorites was the 1953 classic, _The War of the Worlds_, based on H.G. Wells' classic novel.

One thing the adult Expert still remembered from that movie was the Martians' awesome Heat-Ray weapon, and the distinctive sound that it made when fired.

Expert-X heard that sound again, now.

* * *

As Aurolele and the others dove for cover, a rainbow of intense bright light appeared on the other side of the transparent wall, along with that unforgettable sound.

An explosion blew out a section of the Questonite wall, sending debris and fragments flying outwards. The lights of the danger room went out as emergency circuits cut in and shut the power down.

X and the other three ran over, but their fellow paranormals were not hurt, merely shaken as they brushed themselves off and made sure nothing was broken.

Doublestar came running out from the danger room's control center and stood with the rest of them, facing into the now smoke-filled interior of the darkened danger room.

Mightor's face appeared out of the smoke.

"Sorry about that," he said, a broad grin still on his face. "I guess I missed."

Doublestar looked in horror to the luxury booth above.

* * *

"I want him on the team," Barber ordered Stack, either unaware or unconcerned that his voice was being broadcast to the assembled heroes below. "Contact Hanna-Barbera; set up a meeting with their legal team. I don't care if we have to initiate a hostile takeover, just get it done!"

"Frank!" Stack protested. "You've got to reconsider this! That man's a menace! A loose cannon!"

"Exactly, Jim," Franklin Barber, replied, taking a long drag on his cigar and exhaling a smoke ring. "And where would you rather be- holding the trigger of that cannon, or staring down its gun barrel?"

* * *

He didn't think it was possible, but Expert-X's headache had just gotten worse.

"I wonder," he sighed, "if I can still call Tachyon and beg for my old job back."


	9. Final Roster

**Issue 2- Final Roster**

**Saturday, May 21, 1987**

**Barber Estate**

**Bergen County, New Jersey**

Now _this_ was more like it.

Expert-X followed the liveried servant through the halls of the Barber estate. He knew nothing about art, so he had no idea if the still lives and the portraits that adorned the cream-colored walls were an indicator of good taste or not, but he assumed they were nothing if not expensive.

The surface portion of Franklin Barber's abode was surprisingly small and not lavish. It was located only three blocks or so from the warehouse X had entered yesterday, but if it was not for the security fence and cameras, he might have missed it despite being given the address.

* * *

_The automated voice which had answered the phone when the Expert had called the phone number this morning at the designated hour of 10AM had surprised him. Not only the fact that it clearly was not human, but that it resembled most closely that of a young boy._

"_Please speak the seven-digit ID number included in your packet," the voice had indicated, and X, feeling somewhat foolish, had done so._

_The voice repeated the number he had given. "Is that correct?" it asked._

"_Yes," he answered._

_There was a slight pause._

"_Congratulations, Expert-X," the voice said. "You have been selected as a starting member of The Challengers. Please report at 1:45PM this afternoon." The voice then rattled off an address. "The other selected members will be present as well. Please do not attempt to contact any of the other candidates, selected or rejected, at this time. I will inform them personally, to avoid complications. Thank you."_

_Complications, X had thought wryly. Like Cambion storming the estate to tear it to ribbons for not being selected. Smart move._

* * *

The downward slope of the corridor he was now traversing was very slight, and made even less noticeable that the corridor kept turning at right angles, but Expert-X did not need the sensors in his micro-display to tell him that he was now underground. The lack of windows and the slight artificial breeze of central air-conditioning were more than enough evidence. There were occasional doors on either side of the corridor, but the silent servant ignored them all. X followed a few steps behind, wondering which of the colorful characters he had met yesterday would have made the final cut.

Ringlet certainly, he thought. Barber would have to be the biggest fool on Earth not to include her. The Samurai and Aureole as well, in all probability. They had performed admirably in the danger room, and seemed to have stable personalities. Perhaps Harlequin as well. The Expert had kind of liked the so-called magician's easy-going nature. If he proved to be a real team player, X didn't care what Harlequin believed about magic. He'd heard and seen crazier things in his time.

And what about Mightor? Expert-X frowned. Barber seemed set on having him on the team, but the idea of getting accidently tagged by what Mightor had called his "mega-blast" frankly terrified him. Being on the receiving end of Tachyon's radiation burst had been a painful and quite literally nauseating experience. That multicolored beam of Mightor's looked like it could quite easily annihilate any target it struck, paranormal or otherwise.

His further ruminations on the matter were interrupted as the corridor ended in a wide set of stout wooden doors. The servant rapped smartly on them, opened them slightly, stuck his head in, then nodded and withdrew it.

"There you are, sir," he said to X, indicating that he should enter. "Good luck, sir," he added with no real enthusiasm whatsoever as he turned and walked back up the corridor.

Before he could let his nerves get the better of him, the Expert pushed the doors open further and walked in.

* * *

The room seemed to be a study of some kind. Two walls were entirely taken up with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stacked with what a quick glance from X's magnifying sensors identified as legal journals. The floor was wood-paneled except for a large Persian rug in front of the room's only desk. Pictures of Franklin Barber with celebrities of the day; Hollywood stars, politicians, superheroes, businessmen and such, adorned the other two walls.

Barber himself, along with Jim Stack and another man X did not recognize were standing behind the desk. All three nodded to the Expert-X as he entered the room.

"Welcome to the team, Expert-X," Barber smiled at him. X was relieved to see that the executive was not smoking at the moment. He smiled back and made the appropriate and expected returns and then looked around.

Ringlet and Harlequin both walked up to the Expert and shook his hand, Harlequin making a false display of being shocked from X's joy buzzers as he did so. The next person to come up to him drew a frown of puzzlement from him before he could stop it.

It was Enigmus, and the shape-shifter did not seem surprised at X's momentary confusion. "Yes, I made it," he simply said, his voice carefully neutral.

Someone suddenly slammed Expert-X on his back and would have sent him stumbling into Enigmus if the latter, having apparently seemed this coming, pushed forward to keep the Expert upright. X swung his head around.

"Like the big boss says, welcome to the team, X!" Mightor boomed in his loud, cheery voice before reaching around, grabbing the Expert's hand and shaking it vigorously. "Glad to have you on board!"

X watched as Mightor strode over to a leather-bound plush armchair and sprawled down in it like a bored teenaged-boy, legs spread wide and arms askew. "Here comes the orientation spiel."

James Stack looked more than a little annoyed (He also looked, now that X could see him close up, more muscular and fit than most lawyers did, in his experience). The attorney turned his attention to the Expert.

"Thank you for accepting, Expert-X," he said. "You of course know Mr. Barber, and this is the Executive Secretary of Challengers, Inc, Paul Hansen."

The two men shook hands.

"Is this it?" X asked. "The final roster?"

Hansen nodded. "Doublestar will be joining the team as well- he's currently busy, but we'll brief him later- but yes, this is it."

Expert-X couldn't help but frown, the questions in his brain struggling to form into words, but he kept his mouth shut.

Stack went through the preliminary details, describing how the team's base in Greenwich Village would be completed in approximately two weeks, and the Challengers would officially begin operations several days after that.

_Begin operations,_ X thought. _God, how corporate-sounding can you get? I'm pretty sure Space Ghost or the Herculoids __Herculoids__never 'began operations.' This sounds worse the more I hear of it, yet I doubt it's much better back at the SuperCenter._

Yet the Expert had to admit to himself that he just didn't know if he had the balls to go it alone. He'd told himself he would if it came to that and yet-

The voice of Harlequin interrupted his thoughts.

"So who are you appointing as Team Leader?" he asked. "Doublestar?"

Barber smiled. "Not at all. That would provide the appearance of impropriety. Doublestar will merely be another member of your team. He will receive no additional perks or consideration whatsoever."

_Bullshit_, Expert-X said to himself, and was pretty sure he could read an identical thought in Harlequin's face. Mightor seemed either lost in thought or completely lacking in any. X turned to catch the reactions of Enigmus and Ringlet and was startled to just catch the sight of the latter pulling her hand away from that of Enigmus and take a step away from him. Before he could grasp the meaning of this action though, Harlequin spoke up again.

"Appoint? I was actually joking, Mr. Barber. ren't we going to select our Team Leader ourselves by popular vote? That was kind of implied to me yesterday."

Barber was unable to hide his discomfort. He looked over to Stack, who cleared his throat and turned to the magician.

"That was not explicitly stated in the contract, Mr. Harlequin. Self-determination was one of the options we were considering, but after a careful review of all the information supplied to us in your applications, we believe it would be best to select the team's first leader by appointment."

"Enigmus will be your Team Leader," said Paul Hansen.

While these words still hung in the air, X glanced again to his left. While Enigmus stared defiantly back at him, he saw Annulet Masso blush and turn her eyes downward.

And then it hit him.

_Jesus Christ, she and Enigmus are an item! That's why he made the cut even after he killed two holo-civilians in the danger room! Annulet's the one Barber really wants; she must have threatened to refuse unless her boyfriend came with the deal and was made leader!_

The Expert shook his head in disgust. _Nothing ever changes. I am out of here._

"Mr. Barber," X began. "I really don't think this is the right-"

"That's a Persian rug, isn't it?"

Every eye except a marbled one blinked.

If it hadn't so obviously been Mightor's voice, no one present would have believed it had been the TV hero who had spoken. He still sat slumped in his chair; gaze focused on the rug, but his mind, whatever that consisted of, clearly somewhere else.

"Umm, yes," Barber responded, confusion evident in his voice. "It is. Custom-made too, I might add," he finished with a note of pride

"I know," Mightor responded. "It's from the north of Iran. They use child labor to make those, you know. The best rugs require weaves so small only children can tie the knots needed. They toil in terrible conditions. No better than child slavery."

The silence that followed was so absolute X was certain that everyone had stopped breathing.

It was Jim Stack who recovered first.

"You surprise me, Mr. Mightor. How exactly do you know that?"

Mightor looked up at him, his eyes still only partially seeing. The expression on his face however, held none of its earlier levity.

"There's one in my da-"

He caught himself short.

It was blatantly obviously to the entire assemblage that Mightor was struggling to some lie to say. He eventually gave up, mumbling something about having seen a documentary on them on TV and fell silent.

X thought furiously. Had Mightor been about to say, "dad's?" That didn't make sense. It was very hard to judge Mightor's age, especially with that mask, but the Expert thought he was too old to use the word "dad." Besides, who _was_ Mightor's father? If Hanna-Barbera was any guide, he'd be some old man of the Cave People in some far-off dimension. Not too many primitives sported Persian rugs in their caves, he guessed. But if wasn't "dad," what had he been about to say?

There was one thing that was certain, however. There was much more to this "Mightor" than met the eye.

"I'm just trying to do some good in this world, Mr. Mightor," began Franklin Barber. "Perhaps if-"

He was interrupted by an artificial voice which emanated from the intercom on his desk.

"Excuse me for interrupting," the young male voice that X had heard on the phone earlier said, "but there is a private telephone call for Mr. Stack in the media room."

"Thank you, Poindexter," the attorney replied before turning to his boss. "Frank, Paul. I'll see you in the dining room. Frank, don't forget to look at that dossier on the Hanna-Barbera situation I gave you. Gentlemen, Miss Masso," he nodded at the others before striding from the room.

"Is that an Artificial Intelligence I'm hearing?" Expert-X asked, his own scientific curiosity overriding his earlier determination to just get the hell out of here, at least for a few moments.

"Yes, it is," replied Barber. "I've always been fascinated by AIs. In fact, I'm hoping to raise some capital for certain corporations to increase their AI research funding. I'm hoping to bring AIs into the mainstream within a decade."

"Most ambitious," said Ringlet, who sounded as if she neither believed in nor desired such a goal.

"But that voice?" X couldn't help but ask. "And that name? Poindexter? What gives?"

Barber chuckled. "During the construction phase, I overheard of one the project's contract workers mentioning he had an infant son named Poindexter. Couldn't help feeling sorry for the kid. He'll probably be in therapy for years. But then I couldn't help thinking of myself at about ten or eleven. I was skinny- believe it or not- gangly, awkward as hell, and my voice changing sounded like Peter Brady."

The Expert smiled. "So you, at least, did watch TV."

"Of course. Stack's kind of an odd bird in that aspect. I haven't known him long, but I think he grew up in Asia, in a rural village. Military family, something like that." Barber waved that away. "In any case, I decided to make my AI personality rather geekish, just to remind me where I came from."

"So you are not married, Messier Barber?" asked Ringlet. "No children?"

Barber chuckled again, but now there was a ring of sadness to it. "I was engaged once, but I was young then. Still thin-"

He paused.

"Still poor. Her family wouldn't have it."

The executive shrugged and gestured at the intricate designs of the Persian carpet at their feet.

"Now of course, I have all the worldly goods any man could want. Some might even say _and then some_," he added with a nod towards Mightor, who did not respond, seeming to be once again lost in his private thoughts.

"But what I am not is a fool, gentlemen. Look at me. Any woman who shows an interest in me is interested only in my money."

He made a wry face.

"Like the Eagles say, _every form of refuge has its price_. But enough of that. You're not interested in a millionaire's sob stories, I dare say. Mr. Hansen here will show you to the dining room. I've got quite a lunch spread laid out for you. I'll join you there as soon as I have a smoke."

Paul gestured and the others made to follow, although Harlequin did have to tap Mightor on the shoulder to get his attention.

X decided he'd make his decision about quitting after a good meal. It certainly sounded better than the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese awaiting him back at his apartment.

As they started down the corridor however, he found Enigmus had come up to walk directly beside him.

"You're not happy about this, are you?" he said. A statement, not a question, and spoken softly enough for no one else to hear.

"Super-perception one of your powers, too?" the Expert replied, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "If I wanted nepotism, politics and corporate crap, I'd have stayed with the Champions."

Enigmus smiled, not taking offense. "The _New_ Champions, you mean. The old-style teams are gone, X, like it or not. Don't blame you for not liking what you see. I wouldn't either. But I'll ask you the same think Barber asked Stack; wouldn't you rather be on the inside of this thing looking out, than the reverse?"

Expert-X stared at him.

"Is that an offer or a threat?" he asked, but Enigmus had already moved on.


End file.
